“Strange”. “Uncertain”. “Unprecedented”.

In these touch-and-go times, such adjectives run rampant in the Tweets and tracts of twats and hacks. The cliché is nauseating. Yet one is assuaged by a conceptual anti-emetic - the cliché (like most) carries a crumb of veracity.

Most arresting for moi has been the protuberance of Pfidze (not a fat thing). Where once she was a mere detail, an accessory, an after-thought, an atom, a fart, a nothing nothing nothing, she now has a monopoly on my life. One cannot move for her (yes, partly a fat thing).

Since Pfidze’s reinstatement, I have been abiding a strict digital diet*, the “cold turkey†” variety at that. Much of this sea-change has been induced by my excursions to the transcendental (or at least pensive) community. Fear not! I have not fully yielded to flower chi ...