I have just finished *pouring* my soul in to a shortish, emotional but (even if I say it myself) pretty bloody well-written piece about ‘health’.
I was half-way through proofing the completed piece, prior to hitting that little blue ‘publish’ button, when the phone rang.
I had to get up to answer it because my phone was over there in my jacket pocket and I… well, I was not over there in my jacket pocket, obv.
No, I was sitting over here on this chair at this desk.
I took the call – it was Vodafone asking how well the account handler dealt with my query earlier – which lasted about 25 seconds.
But as I sat back down in this chair to finish proofing that wonderful piece of (dare I say it? Dare I?) particularly painfully produced, yet pointedly pithy prose (alliteration is me!), the IT pixies (who we all know to be mean-minded little shits) made the work…
Disappear.
Vanish.
Gone – quicker than a cat-burglar in the night who has just discovered that the thing he is up to his elbows in, is Anne Widdicombe’s underwear drawer.
Bloody pixies.
Not to be confused with The Pixies, the Boston-formed alt-rock band who started up in, erm, 1986.
No, The Pixies were bloody excellent.
IT pixies are scum and should be destroyed. Painfully destroyed. At least twice a day.
* Pandora is, I’m sure you’re aware, the alien planet in the film Avatar. I feel sure that IT pixies do not live on Pandora.