W.W.T.B.F.V.B.P.D.?

 In the new year, I wish for the patience and serenity of the bloke that runs the Very British Problems Facebook page. It's a rare instance of the site's title describing its audience. The absolute shit he has to put up with any time he posts anything. It's not abuse, like you'd expect. It's people chiming in with flabbier, worse versions of the point he's just made, people misunderstanding it, people explaining what his joke was, deconstructing it so it lies there in bits, and finally retirees who otherwise post once a year on poppy day, dropping a poorly spelled non sequitur that Turing's Bombe machine couldn't decipher, followed by a row of laughing emojis. 

Every day. 

And every day, he gets up, dusts himself down, cracks his knuckles, and makes another little film about tea/awkwardness/drizzle. 

No dis. No side. It's genuinely admirable. Like Robert The Bruce's spider. 

I should be more like this. 

I will be. Blinkers on, idiots.