Alas, dear reader, I patronise thee…

I solemnly swear that from this day forward, dear reader, I shall no longer use the term ‘dear reader’ in any further writing.

It comes across as an appropriate way to connect with an audience, to humanise the text and give you, the reader, dearest, that warm and fuzzy feeling that you are being directly spoken to.

Lately I have come across the term being used extensively, and though slightly patronisingly by the character Crispin Hershey in David Mitchell’s The Bone Clocks, it is fitting as Hershey is indeed a bit of a supercilious twat.

Today, as I sat waiting for my Spanish baked eggs to cool in a cafe I had driven half an hour for, simply because my own conceited nature has forced me to go looking for such indulgences away from home and especially before my unemployment gets the better of my finances, I happened upon an article in The Age newspaper (yes in paper form, and if you need explanation as to why the link takes you to the Sydney Morning Herald whilst I mention The Age, then I am afraid we may just not be on the same page).
It was on the very real struggle of determining where to spend one’s money, time and taste buds when we are presented with a plethora of options that we somehow deem better than simply throwing something from the fridge onto crockery and being done with it. A topic all too familiar to yours truly.

Upon my eyes eagerly darting onto the second paragraph, there it was. How dare she! The arrogance! You don’t know me to refer to me as your dear reader!

From then I realised the danger in using such figures of speech, so I shall be mindful of it, I promise you. I want you, dear reader to be engaged with my observations and elucidations, not to drown in a torrent of overly verbose drivel.

So I bid thee farewell for now, for as they say, time is money.