I am a fan of PDAs (Personal Digital Assistants), but not so keen on PDAs (public displays of affection). At least not when there are ugly people involved.

Elsewhere… I’m fairly keen on PDAs (perfectly delightful accountants – they’re preferable to the stuck-up ones) but not so enamoured by PDAs (properly disgusting apples. Just buy nice ones), I LOVE PDAs (properly deep anal) and I put up with PDA (people drinking advocaat – I just don’t like the smell) . I’m keen on PDAs (pretty, dirty Australians – note the comma, full dirtiness please), suffer from PDA (pumpkin-dick atrophy – it isn’t nice) and once spent the evening with PDA (Paul Daniels’ Art teacher). I’m a member of PDA (Paris Doughnut Association – life member in fact), a shopper at PDA (Perry’s Dodgy Antiques – Exit 7, M25), and in vehement denial of PDA (Pre-diluvian artefacts).

That is all…