The Whig sees it as a Nest of Tories, when 'tis a Nest of FOPS! Thus quoth @DrSamuelJohnson on Twitter. Never a truer word, sir.
A brief perusal of Dr Johnson's esteemed followers brought me to a veritable virtual coffee shoppe of most esteemed gentlemen and ladies in the forms of @RealBoswell (And now to th' NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY, where I aim to gaze Fondly at picktures of MYSELF), @TophamBeauclerk (Can any tell me who is the - so-call'd - Prime MInister of this land? The rogue goes a-missing it seems, whenever factional Battle looms), @LaurenceSterne (Mr Cameron,Tory, is angered that AL MCGRADY, the adopted Scot, has retired to foreign climes. Does he want the 'Med' for English OAPs alone?), @JonathanSwift79 (This is both a bankless and thankless holiday. Stella and I arrive at 'Starbucks' expecting whaling equipment, but get an AMERICAN muffin!), @MrAlexanderPope (O RUBICON! what Treachery is this? / Thou sayest, 'Water-Melon'; meanest, 'Piss') which is, frankly, just confusing. @RTristramShandy (He may walk but I enchant (so sir recant!)), @HesterThrale (Planning a trip to Brighton to catch the last rays of the dimming season and escape this frightful London summer), @AaronBurrJr (Just finished my book: "10 things I loathe about the articles of Confederation & that whoreson Hamilton". My place in history is assured.), @TobiasSmollett (feels trepanned by the Internet.) and @TrumpHogarth (The Poor do have but two Delights: FORNICATION and GIN, & of the two, Gin be the more desir'd for it lasts a longer time & is CHEAPER).
This has been the cause of most goodly giggles and yes, I hath friended them ALL.
I'm just taking a short break from the Dreade Submission (cup of green cherry sencha and a banana, should you be curious). I've finished the letter, the infamous Query the writing of which always gives me such a case of the vapours. I've been going over my first three chapters, which a good and trusted friend assured me were Good but which I now see are far from. The things in their entirety are, indeed, naught but a pile of skiddy pants and need must be re-written with a most severe pen. I've cut a good 20% of it, shunted a few pars about. Just 5 pages left to sort out now and I can send it winging through the ether to Mr Ian Drury of Sheil land in Doughty Street, then set about prepping stuff for the next agent in the queue.
It's all a bit of a bastard, I can tell you.
OK then, tea consumed, sustenance taken, loins girded, best be back about it I suppose.
