May I use your dictaphone?

No, use your finger like everyone else.


I feel that apologies are in order.

I’ve been remiss, there have been so many people here to say hello and share things, and so many places that I would normally go to, to share your fun and wisdom, but I’ve just not made it of late. It’s just that I’ve been a bit pre occupied – and if you had the view that I have right now you’d see two sets of eyes staring reproachfully at me from the corner of the room, so I’m constantly reminded that I have priorities too.

Some time ago I stopped blogging. It hadn’t been what I thought it would be. I thought it was simply a place where I could have a rant and rave, to let out some of the bile anonymously and then simply walk away, sated. On reflection, perhaps it is, in fact it probably serves whatever purpose we choose – which leaves me floundering in a way. Because what I’ve found is that I’ve made friends here, really, genuine friends.

This is a matter of no small amazement to me since I’m incredibly selfish in that respect. I’m a user, I have any number of casual acquaintances that I can go have fun with and then, when it suits me, ignore. But here I’ve found people that I’ve come to genuinely care for, and I feel an obligation to, the responsibility of friendship. (Am I alone in this? Is this some anomaly in me, or is it a delusion that separation – the not really knowing the other – causes?). Or am I simply being up-my-bum?

So apology, part two (don’t worry, it’s only a two part series), is that I find I am almost congenitally unable to write what I think most of the time. Not when I’m doing this, but when I’m speaking directly to A N Other of you out there who’s decided that it was worth saying hello. I’m not sure whether it’s a simple lack of vocabulary, or concentration, but I find it difficult to reply to even the simplest message with any clarity. I look back and wince at some of the replies I’ve written when I think of how many ways it’s possible to interpret them, when a few simple words would have done. I believe I should sign messages Terry Fuckwit from now on, as a disclaimer.

So, you should know, that I still do come and read, more often than not in the early hours of the morning, but don’t always comment – as much for me as you, in case I come across one of my own comments and go into spasm.



On a different note, thank you for all of the offers of helmets. I do in fact have a perfectly respectable motorcycle helmet that I wear when I’m out on the bike, robbing a bank and taking a shower (I’m lying about the bank). By the way, did you know that a “helmet” in the UK is also slang for an idiot (wally, plonker, dipstick, helmet etc), and also the bulbous bit on the end of the willy that stops your hand from sliding off? No?...I thought not).

I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more though, because although I spoke to the consultant before the examination I didn’t see him afterwards, I have to wait for a letter. We did chat for a while though and it was reassuring that he didn’t look at me as if I had a large piece of broccoli growing out of my ear, or ask me if I was insured.

But – whether it was because it was Valentine’s day, whether it was a because she held my hand, or the uniform, or the fact that she laughed when I said “Goodbye Mr Bond” when my head disappeared into the scanner – I don’t know. All I know is that, embarrassingly, I had an outrageous dose of the hots for the nurse. It’s a very good job that they didn’t scan my whole body or they’d have found a very strange phenomenon below the belly button. (Golly it was warm in there!).