“Found them. On my way” (Text to a friend while running to catch a train after losing my car keys)
“Hey” (Via muffled hug with same friend)
Two octogenarians taking in a piece of music dear to them both. The wave of emotion lapping behind their eyes, the crease of their lips threatening to blow it over the wall of their self-control (Meetings With Ivor)
“I can’t beat it” (Manchester By The Sea)
“He loved her that much, he almost told her” (Eddi Reader live – as good a raconteur as an octave-climing enthusiast)
“Please wait while your transaction is being processed” (An ATM)
” @itchybollix follows you” (Twitter)
“Red faces all round as there is a mix-up at the Oscars” (RTE News)
“I am currently out of the office with limited access to my emails” (Boss’s Auto-Reply)
“We are pleased to invite you to attend for interview…” (By post)
“She’s feeling better. They think it was just a virus. Worry over” (By text)
“Problem solved! Payment has been processed” (Email from Netflix)
“While you are away, my heart comes undone. Slowly unravels in a ball of yarn..” (Bjork at 1am as the ground is swept under my wheels)
“27th February” (Calendar)
“01:11” (Alarm clock)
“10:15” (ditto)
“Happy Birthday to you” (She to Him in top tonsil)
Two men and a CD player
department of speculation 
‘Old friends. Sat on their park bench like bookends’ Simon and Garfunkel.
‘This feckin printer is not working’ daughter in a rage.
‘night mum’ youngest daughter.
‘woof’ dog every time she sees me.
‘you have insufficient funds’ story of my life.
“Time to crack open the wine, tric” (Me)
“You are very creative!” Me: just now, in a mixture of admiration and jealousy at your seemingly simple idea and its successful execution.
…says I to myself upon reading your many splendid posts. High praise, B. High farking praise indeed.
Ha, I second the comment above. I do not have a riposte ready that will not fall flat under the simple brilliance of your post.
I will say I’m about to sojourn to Twitter to see who @itchybollix is.
It’s always the mindless ones casually lodged with a flick of the send button that doesn’t get the eye-rolls. I must take notes. I mean, note. Hehe.
This is all lovely and might I say optimistic. Are you a guest blogger? Want to take over my perch for a bit?
A rare out-of-character experience. I’ll try to conjure it up again but, like my Kate Bush impersonation, it’s impossible to get right by request.
“Mmmaaaaauugh” teenage son when I try to hug him.
“On my way” my text when I know full well I’m going to be late.
“You bought leopard skin ankle boots from M & S!! With gold buckles!! Eeewww” Two old friends meeting for lunch.
“You can so wear black tights with brown boots.” The old friend who doesn’t do leopard skin.
You so can fucking team brown boots with black tights. And navy, if your shame levels have really been shot to hell. Laughing at the late text. I’ve started hovering over the automatic compulsion to add “two minutes”. Just goes to show – I can change. I can be marginally better at being bad. And the boots, Birdie, the boots. Don’t make me have to stalk you in a really creepy way. Have some self-respect and post a photo. Quick! Please!
The late text is also when I’ve shown such disregard for person that I haven’t even tried to leave on time to meet them. THEY’RE NOT MY BOOTS
I don’t care. If you don’t produce a sketch of them for posterity, I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll eat that last bun.
Soz was still ranting in Upper case when thumb sent. How could you think that of me??? Clearly I’m the one strutting in black tights with brown boots. I do it to wind my friend up.
Aye, the last bun and the other five in the packet;-)