I ate a rabbit.

Phew. And that's not simply a dramatic flourish - lots of phew. I'm so tired I could eat a horse. Every which way to Sunday. 'Til the cows come home. And ask me what I'm doing eating horse - I'm not French! I actually had horse in France when I went there on a French exchange. They also fed me rabbit, which still had the spinal cord attached, vertebrae and all. If I'm honest, I think the Frogs got the better end of the deal on all that - my French exchange partner was really spotty and had lots of curly hair, he looked like a badly-maintained toilet brush. He could hardly speak Engleesh either. Whereas I was witty and sparkling and terribly polite. I am in many languages - although perhaps not English.

Anyway - this wasn't supposed to be a blog post, merely some snivelling bunch of excuses as to why I was not able to provide you with any good material in the last several days. Hence the dramatic flourish - phew - I'm not holding out on you, dear reader, I have merely been remarkably busy engaged in business of the most busy order. In-between twittering. But I have some cracking blog posts coming up, let me tell you. I'm going to be musing about the state of journalism any time soon on my mistress blog and I'm going to be funny as hell on here. It's effortless, you know. People might say you've really got to work at it, that you need to read loads of crap and practice, but that's just so you don't try and get in on the action.

Jokes.