Well, happy New Year, my little blog chums. Didn’t that come around fast? I’m already trying to get my head round why it was two-thousand-and-eleven, but now we’re in twenty-twelve. They both just sound right, don’t they? But wrong the other way. There’s some sort of unfathomable natural law at work here.
December was by far the bloggingest month I’d had since May, despite publishing a risible eight posts to ALBOWIEB. I’m not given to New Year’s resolutions, because they are stupid and you never do them, but if I did then tending to my dear blog would certainly be among them.
I remember the heady days of posting something to my blog every day. Sometimes several times a day. Sometimes with pictures and other such goodies. I’m not sure whether I had more to say, a lack of an outlet, or just didn’t get out very much. Probably a lamentable mix of all three.
But, dear blog buddies, I shall make the effort to update you more often despite my flourishing career as a talented motoring journalist. My fear is that I only have so many words in me in a day, and I do need those to put in our magazines. Perhaps what I should do is keep a little shoebox for all the ones I have to cut out when I go over my word limits.
In recent years I have done a special jumbo post with my favourite entries from each month picked out. Whilst it would only take me about eight minutes to pick out my highlights from the 95 posts from 2011 (versus 271 in 2010), they would invariably be a bit crap and sparse. I will bottle the guilt like an aftershave and use it as a piquant scent to freshen up my forthcoming proses. Or something like that.
For now I am going to enjoy the best bit of the new year. Like any relationship, everyone’s on their best behaviour for the first five minutes and then it’s downhill from there. Bottoms up.
3 hours ago
I have this very day asked my social secretary's social secretary's secretary's deputy assistant to dispatch to you, via a small footman or other runner, and with all possible haste, upon this, the very season of New and Happy Christmas'ies'es and Merry Yearing, our most seasonal and sincere felicitatious greeting-esque sentiments.
ReplyDeletePlease tip the messanger a florin or half-crown upon arrival as we had him run off the estate by the gamekeepers when he seemed reluctant to slip from a postman's "second-class" jog into a telegraph boy's canter, as is proper for the nature of our missive, and consequently we were unable to pay him before he left, although he ay retain some buckshot and a few commas, and pauses, that we, have not, used.
Merry, er, and a very happy, um, etcetera Sir.