This conversation is an exam for which I did not revise sufficiently.

You know at the end of Wall-E when he’s all run down and reboots but he doesn’t reboot as Wall-E, he’s just some dumb cleaning robot? I am just some dumb cleaning robot.

All my thoughts are at the bottom of a well and we’re all just going to have to wait for the bucket to come up before I can tell you whether I want a cup of tea, alright?

John Peel has set my brain at the wrong speed.

I am trying to find the right word but my brain’s dictionary is suddenly arranged alphabetically by definition, not word, so it’s going to take a while.

I’m a dial-up modem in a fibre broadband world.

My brain is a finely tuned piece of clockwork. Clockwork that is now full of candy floss.

The opening line of the Malcolm in the Middle theme tune is my standard response to any interaction.

Complicated processes are liable to cause the Blue Brain of Death.

I am making about as much sense as I would if I were steaming drunk, but unlike if I were drunk, I am painfully aware of how poorly constructed my sentences are.

I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.

Dr. Sam Beckett has just landed in my body and said “Oh boy!” but Al hasn’t turned up with Ziggy yet so he has no idea what’s going on.

I have decided to turn my life into one fun long-running version of the game Taboo and you’re just going to have to try and work out what word I actually wanted to say.

Why have you all started speaking Russian?