Imagine if Megan went wandering somewhere…I don’t know, she left home one day, told her mother that it was too nice a day to sit inside and surf Facebook.
So I came along and gave Ms Muffet oodles and acres of curds and whey.
The text editor I’m writing this with marks “Megan” as a spelling error. None of the variants I know render as acknowledged spelling either. Well, buggeration to that.
There are lots of Megans in the world, some taller than the others. Some are Welsh, like the name itself (Welsh for Margaret, if you didn’t know). Some live in the US, some hang out in the Ust Urt (or Ustyurt if you like). I wrote a story about a Megan, which is here for your pleasure. A rather salacious kind of Megan too, maybe for reasons that are mentally and socially unhealthy. I’ll revisit the life and times of that young lady one day(™). Or soon(™).
It’s a sere day
There’s this one expression in the English language that keeps an unwanted currency – all over bar the shouting. Really? If there’s still shouting in reference to the thing allegedly over, then – wait for it – it’s not over. So, it’s an inherently absurd statement. You hear it frequently with regards to sports, at least here in Australia. A team wins a close one and it spews forth: “all over bar the shouting”.
I’d dearly love to hear a commentator with wit take this execrable trite thing apart; something like “it’s all over bar the post mortem on the slab” or “it’s all over bar the post-coital cigarette”. But unfortunately we have no commentators with wit in Australia.