The best title for a haphazard weblog like mine I've ever encountered, one which resembles little more than a collection of random titbits (or as our cousins from across the pond would say tidbits lest the sexual connotations of the prefix gives offence, or offense) must be the already taken Brainsluice. Snatches of half remembered anecdotes, sub Swiftian references to bodily functions in an effort to get mileage out of: headaches, mouth ulcers, tears, coughs and farts. And swearing. The moans and groans about my "trials of a net neophyte," the suffering of which ensures most, if not all, of those psychological and physiological conditions are my constant companions. A bit of radio here, TV there. A fragment of social commentary ( a few ideas percolating even now, though Gert's just beat me to one of them - The Great British Package Holiday, rich with potential, and she has the damn cheek to do it justice!), or anything that works its way to the surface of my mind.
Figuratively speaking, the skull is opened and it's hung over a surface. A bucket of water is sloshed over it which douses the brain, releasing chunks of knowledge and outpourings of nonsense. It all falls randomly before being swept and sifted into an organised heap. This heap makes up the bloggers ( this blogger's) post. The brain is then clear to receive more information.
Brainsluice. Genius. Am I always to be beaten to the best ideas? As an acknowledgement I shall visit this website, become familiar with its contents and gaze wistfully at its title. And try very hard not to glower.