I tried not to focus on my urges, and whenever my mom caught me rubbing up against the fence post that I called Skipper I'd pretend I had lice.
"The forums are helpful in reducing the risk of acting on my urges, even though I don't consider myself at great risk.
"Go on," my friends urged.
But no, had the Huffington Post diary not happened, I'd have quite happily rumbled on; my urge to share my hugely important thoughts confined to my meager output of columns, blog posts, freelance features and books.
Like all committed collectors, whether of van Goghs or novelty salt and pepper shakers, I prefer to look back on my urge to accumulate as passionate, as opposed to pathological.
I tried one on your urging and it desiccated my lips to the texture of Ramesses II's mummified scalp.
On my wife's urging, we surged into the road, with the crowd, in defiance of the light.
You come with me, ja?" He slaps a large helmet on my head and urges me into a frayed webbing truss.
"Come on!" he urges the people.
"Go on then!" urged Valérie Pécresse, a former budget minister.
