Paul J Penton – Songwriter

Rarely have my nails been long enough to need to engage the services of one, just that time after trekking in Nepal where I was petrified of biting my nails, in case some turgid disease lay waste beneath them and was ready to give me a decent dose of Deli-beli. Yes those half moons were shining out of the universe of my fingers, cute-icles they were. 

Did I even really use one? What I did use them for was building model aircraft , yeah somehow that rasping little set of grooves was good for an initial rough sand, the plastic filtering down a snow of grey particles and smelling of polyvinyl resin. The hook on the end is interesting – for getting under the ends of your nails I suppose- Seems a bit like torture in my mind, sort of like those war horror stories of prisoners getting things inserted under fingernails and having electrodes attached to private parts…. yeeesh! 

They seem so dormant and passive really, a thin silver finger that beckons with that curling tongue at the top. The ridges remind me of grooves on a country road that you have to drive over at the right speed- too slow and you’re shakin’ like a massage bed – too fast you might just slide right off into nowhere- maybe we should get Goldilocks to drive to get it ‘just right’ .She might have used the old nail file I guess being a girl and all – not really a boy ting – though in this day and age of guys using face creams and hand lotions anything goes I suppose. When I’m holding  the file in my hand it’s thin and seems to be flimsy but it is actually firm and forceful as it needs to be.