Look, I'm aware that I'm talking to myself here. Two months is an unconscionably long time in Internetland, where the hours waiting for the next reply to your witty comment on someone elses blog attenuate beyond the capability of mere temporal nomenclature to contain them. Here in the actual living, breathing, husbanding, fathering, cooking world, however, it shoots by like a very fast thing. Possibly a cheetah. They're quite rapid, I'm reliably informed.
So yes, the blog lay fallow. Purely and simply cos I was too damn busy to do anything with it. Too busy to do a lot of things I'd like to. But heigh ho. Such is the exciting and glamorous world of coastalblog. Why only yesterday I was scrubbing out an extractor fan canopy. Don't you wish you were me?
But yet, but yet..I can't let go of dear old coastalblog. I toyed with the idea of making this a one final post and saying cheerio to the zero people still checking in, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it. It would have seemed an admission of defeat, and admission that there is nothing left beyond domesticity and commerce. Which, of course, I should like to imagine that there is.
There is, for example, issue 12a of Neon Highway, edited by Alice Lenkiewicz and Dee Mcmahon, with a small amount of help from me. 13 follows in April, with luck, a following wind and afew hours of free time. I have a few spare copies, drop me a line to the usual address should you want one. It does, however, cost actual English Pounds.
There's also the garden. Laugh along as Matt attempts to learn how to acually deal with one with no idea what he's doing. I was out there the other day, enthusiastically hacking away. I suspect I may have done a couple of grand's worth of damage.
There's a new writing project, which I shall endeavour to keep up with, details murky as of present, the urge is ever present, the chances, however, are scant.
There's also the dear old business. Which is ticking along okay, thanks for asking. Not to the extent that I can actually pay myself any Real Money as of yet, but hope springs eternal, as the mother of someone called Hope once said when she bought her a trampoline. Possibly.
So there we go. I'm still here. I'm not entirely subsumed by Commerce. Just yet. I'm just talking to myself because I can't let go.
So yes, the blog lay fallow. Purely and simply cos I was too damn busy to do anything with it. Too busy to do a lot of things I'd like to. But heigh ho. Such is the exciting and glamorous world of coastalblog. Why only yesterday I was scrubbing out an extractor fan canopy. Don't you wish you were me?
But yet, but yet..I can't let go of dear old coastalblog. I toyed with the idea of making this a one final post and saying cheerio to the zero people still checking in, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it. It would have seemed an admission of defeat, and admission that there is nothing left beyond domesticity and commerce. Which, of course, I should like to imagine that there is.
There is, for example, issue 12a of Neon Highway, edited by Alice Lenkiewicz and Dee Mcmahon, with a small amount of help from me. 13 follows in April, with luck, a following wind and afew hours of free time. I have a few spare copies, drop me a line to the usual address should you want one. It does, however, cost actual English Pounds.
There's also the garden. Laugh along as Matt attempts to learn how to acually deal with one with no idea what he's doing. I was out there the other day, enthusiastically hacking away. I suspect I may have done a couple of grand's worth of damage.
There's a new writing project, which I shall endeavour to keep up with, details murky as of present, the urge is ever present, the chances, however, are scant.
There's also the dear old business. Which is ticking along okay, thanks for asking. Not to the extent that I can actually pay myself any Real Money as of yet, but hope springs eternal, as the mother of someone called Hope once said when she bought her a trampoline. Possibly.
So there we go. I'm still here. I'm not entirely subsumed by Commerce. Just yet. I'm just talking to myself because I can't let go.
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