As with every piece of technology, I arrive late to it, and so here I am apparently blogging just as it becomes unfashionable. Kind of like that moment when Tony Blair started wearing combats and the arse (Pardon the pun. Oh go on.) fell out of the combat jeans market.
I’ve been advised to write as if I’m being read by thousands, as opposed to myself, a Norwegian blogger named Bjorn with a fetish for bearded federalists, and a cat who has managed to accidentally land on this blog whilst trying to scratch itself against a keyboard. So, hello Bjorn. Or should that be hello with a line through it? I don’t know. I’m not Norwegian, and you can’t make me be either.
So what will I be posting? Mostly nonsense that I talk to myself in my cold winter bed, along with the odd review of books, music or DVD that I liked and is a bit off the beaten track, let us say. And some political stuff, including going at the more monkey shit (Full of nuts) element of the No campaign with all the vigour of a Barack Obama appointed FBI director leading a raid on a Ku Klux Klan Christmas Dinner Dance, just after they start playing the Moody Blues. (Knights in White Satin, just in case you’re wondering. Get it? Forget it. I’m wasted on you people.)
By the way, if you have absolutely no interest in politics whatsoever you might find this a bit hard going, as I mainline my politics. Having said that, I will try to write about politics as it applies to life, not the bolloxology that passes for politics (Bolitics? Tip of the hat to Mr. Colin Scuffins for that particular turn of phrase.) in our national parliament.
So here’s hoping I’m not writing to myself, as it is almost certainly not one of the more pleasureable things I could be doing on my own.
I’m talking about watching The West Wing, you foul perverts.