So I won Blog Post of the Month. Shared it with some pretty cool pictures of old people. So go fucking me. I find myself in illustrious company. And while I would like to respond with:
'You can't put art in a competition, man.'
'It's not about awards, I do it all for love and hate and self-aggrandisement.'
'Thanks to all who nominated me, or maybe just that one person who did so on my express request.'
I cannot. For my genuine reaction is 'Thank fuck for that.' Having ponderously proved that 18 is the magic number when it comes to the amount of times one can drop a Blackberry on a wooden floor before it ceases to function, I've been carrying this piece of Hans Brinker donated shit around for the last three months. It was getting to the point where I was being forced to choose between self-respect and contactability.
And while the cynical exploitation of a personal tragedy may rankle with some, some must also admit that half a smart phone is a whole lot better than one really fucking stupid one.
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