Yesterday, Tad Bourgeois sent me some spam. It went straight to the Junk folder but I'll save his name for when I'm asked for a name. Or maybe I'll feminise it. Midge Proletariat, maybe? I usually give a fake name when making restaurant reservations. I almost never give my name but make one up that you just know isn't me. This started from uni days when you (well, my friends and I anyway) made a joke out of everything possible. So I've gone by Enola Gay, Lara Croft and the last time we went to Hard Rock Cafe, we were Evita Peron, party of four. No one batted an eyelid.
Separately, someone else wanted to inform me that there is "no valve in inharmonious". I guess the valves are looking for a bit of peace. Well, aren't we all.