The author calls for a vote of no confidence in the flesh. The vote is passed by a margin of one. He walks with a limp, but thinks on his feet. Can’t touch his toes, but bends over backwards to Do The Right Thing. Andrew always agonises at alliterative absurdities, ably anchoring alphabetically asinine adages. While he’s not rewriting his stylesheets, Andrew often feeds his Easyjet habit, travelling at vast speeds across the UK to see his girlfriend, Lisa, in Edinburgh. His hair is his own, as are his teeth. He doesn’t own the design rights, but has it on good authority that he will not have to pay royalties. He is secretly proud of the way he collects other people’s junk and makes it useful, but wishes everyone else would return the complement, as his room is full. At home, he will spend hours solving a problem that would be better solved by asking. At work, he has learnt to ask. The details always look more important to Andrew than the main outcome. The pickle-jar theory would work beautifully if there were less sand and water. He can move his eyebrows independently, but cannot roll his tongue. He agrees with Dean Allen that the Pilot Hi-Tecpoint V5 Extra Fine is a fine pen, but gripes about built-in obsolescence. He would like to think he could cook without packets. He wants to work closer to home for less time and more money. Even with his knowledge of the chief weapon of the Spanish Inquisition, he still finds himself surprised quite a lot of the time. He is prepared for all emergencies but sometimes feels totally unprepared for everyday life.