My remissness scales ever higher peaks.
The list of those I am really, honestly about to write, phone or otherwise contact grows by the hour. You know who you are. Actually, I know who you are. Actually, for some of you, I don’t, as the accursed mobile phone has done what I often wished it would, and disappeared.
It contained a number of phone numbers I has foolishly entrusted only to it. I believe I haven’t lost anyone utterly, but you may find you are contacted in a different form than that originally intended (letter rather than phone, postcard rather than phone, yodelling rather than phone).
Ah. Hum. You know, this loss of numbers could be a very good thing. So good that I hesitate to suggest what initially seemed a very good idea: that your mobile (and computer) should not store contact details locally but access a central listing which you therefore only have to update once, and cannot be lost when you lose your phone, hard drive or indeed mind. Perhaps this is already being done, and I just don’t know.
Perhaps I did know, and have lost the reference.
Anyway, I believe I have attained a level of remissness which is no longer pleasant, and therefore cannot remit any more. This means that, according to the jig-jag nature of English, I will attempt to be remitted of my sins by remitting all communications.