The Bitterest Pillbox.

This afternoon, I had my own smallscale Twitter moment; let's relive it in real time:

 4:21PM: 
4:22PM: (Just to clarify, we're not imprisoning him.)

 4:24PM: Look at it. It was a work of art. LOOK AT IT. 

4:24PM: My money's on him having eaten it.

 4:25PM: It was the healthiest Filofax on the planet.

 4:27PM: It was all the colours of the rainbow. Literally.
4:27PM: Apart from the ones you can't see. Which is ironic, as now you can't see it.

 4:36PM: If I run out of time to write a new show for Edinburgh, can I just dispense seven-day pill-organisers to the audience like a shopping channel made flesh?

 4:42PM: I've ordered a new one. Fuck it.

4:43PM: LOSE THIS ONE, DAD, AND YOU'LL RUE THE DAY.

 4:46PM: (I've also ordered him some scourers, but I'm worried the colour scheme will confuse it.)

4:46PM: WHY MUST EVERYTHING BE SO JOLLY?

 4:52PM: Perhaps I can develop a mechanism that'll dispense tablets directly to his mouth at the given time in the style of the board game Mouse Trap.

 4:52PM: (Something to think about.)

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