Me: "Uh oh. Is that the Internet?"
Internet: "Who else would it be?"
Me: "A random insult delivered in a disappointed tone? You could've been my Mum."
Internet: "Good point. But no, it's the Internet here, and you know why I'm ringing?"
Me (Blowing cheeks out): "Maybe."
Internet: "There's a whole universe in here, and you're ignoring it?"
Me: "I've been busy in the real world . . ."
Internet: "Not that daft fantasy land of yours again. Give it up will you?"
Me: "I go on Facebook."
Internet: "Pfft. Facebook. That's not the internet. That's just harvesting."
Me: "Er, Twitt . . ."
Internet: "Don't say Twitter! You're not ALLOWED to say Twitter. Twitter is a privilege, not a right, and you're abusing it by not showing up, by ignoring it."
Me: "I do read it occasionally!"
Internet: "Occasionally? OCCASIONALLY! It's there twenty-four seven. Never tiring, never complaining, never asking for anything in return. For you."
Me: "I . . ."
Internet: "You made Twitter cry!"
Internet: "Yes. Oh indeed. And look at the weeds on the Gravel Farm."
Me: Yeah, I know about them. I was going to tidy up, freshen the place up a bit, but I've got so much on . . ."
Internet: "We've had this conversation before, haven't we? The last time I had to give you a bit of a talking to. Remember this?"
Me: "You've managed to put a link into a phone conversation?"
Internet: "I'm the internet.
Me: "Fair enough."
Internet: "So what are you going to do about it?"
Me: "About what?"
Internet: "About getting back on line?"
Me: Well, I suppose I could cut down on looking after the children. Maybe get them a load of ready meals in, or just leave plates of porridge oats on the floor"
Internet: "Hmm. It's a start."
Me: "Or I could stop spending my spare time on my current favourite website in all of the internets, because it's a massive time waster."
Internet: "Here we go. I bet I don't need to disable your Private browsing function to guess what sort of website that is eh? Lots of pink? Eh? Lots of epidermis? Eh?"
Me: "Porn? I wish. I don't have time for that. These days I get my kicks from the lingerie page of the La Redoute catalogue."
Internet: "Not porn. So what is it then?"
Me: "This." *Strains to put link in conversation* "It's a flash game called GunBlood and it's got all fake blood and gore in it."
Internet: *Sighs* "You've been wasting time on a flash game?"
Me: "Well it is part of the internet.
Internet: "Let's have a look then . . ."
Me: " . . . "
Internet: "Holy superhighway that's addictive!"
Me: "Isn't it though?"
Internet: *Sounds of shots being fired* "Damn!*
Internet: "Eh? Oh. yes." *Sound of eyes being torn away from game*
Internet: "It's no excuse. You need to make up for your lack of internettling."
Me: "I know, I know."
Internet: "Good. Well, I've made my point."
Me: "I do actually have a reason for my recent tardiness?"
Internet: "Oh really? I'd like to hear that."
Me: "A good, solid, water tight reason that means you will forgive me utterly"
Internet: "Can't see it myself, but go on. Humour me."
Me: "I've got a Blackberry."
Internet "A Blackberr . . .Oh. Oh I see."
Me: "You do?"
Internet: "Yes. Yes of course. I'm so . . . you know, sorry."
Me: "That's okay." *Tear-filled voice* "These things happen."
Internet: "Yeah. Yeah they do. But still, I shouldn't have been so . . ."
Me: "Hey forget it. You've got a job to do . . ."
Internet: "I have. And sometimes, it gets in the way. No prisoners, you know how it is."
Me: "Yeah, sure."
Internet: "I'll leave you to it then."
Me: "Okay. Bye."
Actually, the Internet is right, which is very unusual. I have been neglecting the worldly wide wonders of the webby wide web (WWWOTWWW), apart from playing GunBlood, so I need to buck my ideas up. The middle of September is occurring, and I have yet to post somehting on The Gravel Farm. Which is a shame, because there's plenty of daft stuff out there. Just a quick click through my phone photos shows me stuff to get irate about, be it bad grammar in graffiti:
|Some sort of very deep, almost impenetrable philosophy?|
Or a zoological anomaly in a cookery magazine:
I could quite easily see a fight between David Attenborough and Rick Stein over something like this.
But really, the thing that I'm most ashamed about, is that I took a photo of a perfectly good tea stain on my kitchen workshop and didn't have the decency to post it. Let me, in some small belated way, make up for it now. Behold:
|I'll have to rub this hard to get it off|
I know what you're thinking. It totally looks like an uspide down version of the African Sub-saharan country of Benin. That's what I thought as well.