Skip to main content

If. I. Could. Just. Move. My. Arm.

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.


Popular posts from this blog

The Free School Meals Own Goal

As you're doubtless aware, HMG scored a fairly spectacular own-goal this week, with the decision not to extend free school meals (FSM) over the half-term holiday. The idea, advanced to tremendous effect by Marcus Rashford, was to ensure that no children go hungry when they're not in school. No one could argue with that, right? If we can all agree on one thing, it's that we're pretty anti-starving kids, right? And at a cost of a mere 20 million quid, which is chump change to a government which has wasted billions on Track and Trace that doesn't work, and hundreds of millions in contracts to their mates for PPE that doesn't work, it was a pretty cheap bit of good publicity. Well, as it turns out, there's a sizable element of the Tory party (and the wider populace, we'll get to them in a minute) which is pretty pro-starving kids. You may have seen the speech by Brendan Clarke-Smith, the Conservative member for Bassetlaw, in which he spoke about not wanting

Just let us enjoy it for five minutes, yeah?

He lost! The moment that most sane humans have been fervently praying for for the last four years has finally arrived. After an interminable period of watching numbers fail to move, more "Key Race alerts than I've had hot dinners, and much marvelling at the seemingly iron constitutions of all at CNN, the news was finally confirmed. And lo there was much rejoicing across the land. You'll have your own favourite bit, no doubt, Personally for me it's a toss-up between Nigel Farage losing a ten grand bet and the hilariously shambolic, bathetic ending, where a confused Rudy Giuliani, thinking he'd booked the Four Seasons Hotel for a press conference, stood blinking in the car-park of Four Seasons Total Landscaping, between a crematorium and a shop selling dildoes.  I am not by any stretch much of a US politics nerd. I know that most UK politics fans have a slightly dorky obsession over the US process which probably stems from watching too much West Wing , but it's s


In among the various examples of David Cameron being a pillock in her hugely entertaining diaries , which caused a minor furore a few weeks back, the otherwise spectacularly un self-aware Sasha Swire made one hugely telling and perceptive point, described here in Rachel Cooke's excellent Guardian  interview  Following a Downing Street Christmas party in 2011, for instance, she notes that the closeness of Cameron’s circle is “unprecedented… a very particular, narrow tribe of Britain and their hangers-on”. It’s “enough to repulse the ordinary man" This sense of Government by chumocracy was one of the less edifying aspects of the already pretty ropy Cameron years. An idea of a few good pals lording it up at each other's houses and doing a spot of Governing when it suited them haunted the back of a fag packet policies of that intellectually threadbare period (in the book, Dave boasts of "winning a war" in Libya, conflating it with the great day he's just had on t