Ha! I've caught myself perpetrating three or four genuinely good jokes and even one or two bits of sheer silliness.
Among the latter, I couldn't help but see a grouchy stupidity in somebody's moan on the Factory canteen's comments sheet for the day:
"My piece of quiche was too small!" they'd scrawled.
So I pinched a pen and wrote underneath:
"My piece of quiche was too big."
Hours later, as I paused between stories for a quick smoke on the landing, one of the loveliest women on the editorial floor, also blessed with a richly melodious laugh, stopped for a brief chat as she left.
With her bright dark eyes just a breath's distance from mine and such a pretty mouth divulging some intriguing news, it was very hard to restrain myself from simply kissing her full on the lips there and then.
That could have got me into terrible trouble, but Oh la la! Could it just be, I dared wonder, that the worst of the winter is suddenly behind us, this part of the world no longer fully turned on its dark side?
Despite the congested sore head, city drabness and unexpected course of antibiotics to finish on Friday, I felt better than I have for weeks.
Then I realised.
"I feel a full moon coming on," I remarked to MK, back on the news desk.
"That's interesting," she said. "How do you know?"
But I always know.
Michelle put it down to some kind of "magnetic influence". Yes, something like that. Well, I discovered, it's on Friday-Saturday night.
But maybe I'd already known and forgotten.
There was also a good landing chat with Patxi, the big Basque, about vices, of which he kindly offered to teach me a few more, and how the Brits are good at crosswords but the French so much better at wordplay, including puns ('Dictionnaire International des Termes Littéraires'; Fr. but also some articles in English).
Wordplay is one of my favourite things about the French language.
There's plenty of that in the work of Lynda Lemay, the star singer from Québec who made me miss a Métro change tonight as I was listening to 'Les Lettres Rouges' for the first time, becoming an instant if belated fan.
Lynda's remarkable voice, considerable wit, the clever humour in some of her songs and intimacy with life's passions in the more serious ones brought back a few emotions I've rarely felt since my family days...
Lynda Lemay (RFI, decent bio in English), Mali's Moussa Traoré, Berlin's Ellen Allien, Argentina's Emma Milan and the late Eva Cassidy of Maryland, who died cruelly young, like the London-born Sandy Denny (whom I saw live several memorable times in my teens) -- these are just a few of the women who have made almost every kind of music, all on my adored iPod.
That astounding invention can scarcely take any more.
I've copied more than 200 CDs from my collection on to the music player that has in just weeks become a vital part of my life, to such a degree that I can totally identify with the considerable distress the Kid felt when some utter asshole a few days ago stole the Walkman I bought her for Christmas.
I thank my stars I also insured it, and all I'm waiting for is a copy of her police report, due in the post.
I'm far from convinced that I'm the womaniser a friend recently told me I am. Even if I were, my recent experiences have confirmed that I've extremely rarely been a "successful" one!
But of one thing the Faithful 5 ¾ can be certain.
In the coming year, should you keep dropping by, you'll be reading many more entries on a vast subject close to my heart: the voices of women.
And tomorrow comes my latest rendez-vous with Dr F, the expert in psychosomatic matters. It promises to be an interesting encounter.
We've not yet had a session so close to the full moon.
Now, if only I could get those magnetically kissable lips right out of my mind. What could they not cure?
10:41:19 PM link 
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