P.S.

Well-this blog isn't dead...yet! It may be going downhill, but who knows what's round the next dale!

You may call me P.S. I'm betting that the first thought that springs to your mind is a foolscap sheet of paper, once upon a time blank, its virginity now destroyed but its beauty enhanced. I do not apologise for that. I am an egoistic guy and I make no apologies for that either(sorry if I sound a bit like Ayn Rand there). I am proud, very proud, of the effect I produce on this dead-wood dance floor. I love the sound of my voice. Scratchy though it may seem to some, to me it is the gentlest, most soothing melody I have heard. I haven't finished. I am a dancer of the most exquisite skill. The convolutions I describe are leagues above the capability of the most talented ballerina. There is one disclaimer though that you ought to be aware of- talented as I am on the small scale I have no say on the overall effect of my gyrations on the floor. So if the afore-mentioned effect is not pleasing to the eye, don't blame me! I have told him time and time again to enrol in hand-writing classes ...but does he listen?

Who am I? Ahem, well, I introduce myself as... Aw, come on, don't stop! Atleast let the music stop...flowing! Sigh...

Yours till I'm put back on,

P.S.
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(A tribute to a fountain pen on paper)