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I’ll keep this brief for two reasons. Firstly, I think there comes a time when a man has to exercise some measure of self-discipline over certain aspects of his life. For instance, on occasion I’ve been prone to acts of wanton gibberish, blarney-fuelled blather and tangential excess. My friends claim I talk out of my hat, my family say I can talk the hind legs off a donkey, and donkeys say I’m a pioneer in pain-free amputation. I’ve never understood donkeys. In any case, I can accept this. However, by taking a deep breath, centering myself and aligning my various chakra points I’ve learned to channel these energies, direct my focus and overcome these habituated response patterns. Where once I had an infinite capacity to talk endlessly about absolutely nothing, I now communicate with the kind of succinct, razor-like precision and a prudent economy of words that would make Clint Eastwood sound like Boris Johnson, or a ninja seem chatty.

The second reason I’m keeping this brief is because I’m supposed to be flying to Glasgow tomorrow and I haven’t started packing yet. Shit.

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About the Author:

My name is Tom Lennon and I'm a freelance writer who specialises in humour at the geekier end of the pop culture spectrum. I'm based in Birmingham, UK, and my work has recently appeared in BuzzFeed and Time Out.

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