Doodles in the margin from an artist living and working in the Scottish Borders.

Monday, 4 April 2011


Foam shrimps, yesterday.

I had two brushes with the many-headed beast that is the internet in as many days. Both came through Twitter, and both were reminders that Twitter is a very public place, regardless of how much you think you're mumbling away in private.

Yesterday I posted a comment about Robbie Savage, footballer, dull pundit and missing BeeGee, currently engaged in a three-way battle with God and Colin Murray to achieve omnipresence. It was something to the effect that Savage's punditry certainly involves a fair amount of self-deprecation; barely a minute of a match goes by without him managing to engineer a self-deprecating reference to himself.

It's not the worst thing that someone on Twitter has said about Robbie Savage. What I wasn't expecting was that Robbie Savage himself would re-tweet it, which meant I got a couple of Sav is da man wat u evn no abt ftball u r a jock u r all shit up there if u met him u wd prbly lick his hoop-type comments in retaliation.

Fair dos, I suppose. It was unpleasant, but if you're going to make a public utterance about somebody, there's a chance they're going to hear it, particularly if they spend as much time as Robbie Savage apparently does looking themselves up on Twitter.

Then today, I posted after listening to the new series of 'Fags Mags and Bags' on Radio 4. It's very funny; there's a real joy in the use of language, it's beautifully performed, and creates a perfect world of its own, which is what makes the best comedies successful.

I was particularly pleased to hear Ramesh refer twice to the 'foam shrimp', because 'foam shrimp' is funny in itself, and I enjoy hearing Sanjeev Kohli saying 'foam shrimp.' (Stop saying foam shrimp.)

I said as much, and I was absurdly pleased when this then happened:

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