Sunday, January 23, 2005


or Past Imperfect

So, what was all that about, then?
“What the fuck was that?”
“That was 2004, mate.”

I seem to remember I began the year resolved to cut back on the amount of work I do. So how is it that I had five tutorials on a Saturday afternoon? Gang oft agly…too damned right.

I’ve never been much of a one for this end of year stock-taking lark so from whence comes this retrospective temper, I know not. Perhaps it has been brought on by the fact that I cannot buy most of the imported items upon which I have come so much to depend. The wholesalers are hanging on to their stocks in order to take advantage of the annual January price rises and who am I to say them nay?

So what have I learnt? What pearls of wisdom can I impart as a result of yet another year’s experience? Very little if the truth be known…unless you can count, “Never trust a geek bearing bourbon” as sound advice. And seeing as how that was responsible for one of the more memorable events of the year, a drunk to end all drunks…a drunk against which all future drunks will be measured and found sadly wanting, I would judge it about as sound as the Hutton inquiry if I were you.

High points? Meeting Lamps and Weggie in the flesh was pretty cool, and Weggie in the flesh is even larger than his cyber self…a barrel full of bonhomie and belly laughs. Not much of a kisser, though.

The landfall of Hurricane Jess in Nagykanizsa left echoes which resonate still. Two full days, one of which was spent in near death experience and shock at the realization that alcohol is, in fact, poison and yet more was said that was worth saying and worth hearing in those two days…

Meeting the MBB at the Nelson also deserves more than an honourable mention. Uncy was living proof that good things come in small packages but the shocker of the year title belongs sans doubt to Big Mart. Ah’ve sin mo’ meat on a fookin’ sparrer. Mind you, compared to Kirsty, Mart was positively wobbling with excess adipose deposit. First time I saw her, I’m sure she was hanging on a hook behind the door in Hancock’s ‘Blood Donor’ sketch. Don’t grab her too hard, Lats…tha’ll cut thissen.

Next on the list? You lot, I guess. If I have not lost you forever as a result of my recent tardiness in posting, that is. Blame pressures of work and Bill fucking Gates, anything but aim your arrows in my direction, please. You have renewed my belief in the fact that if you were to toss a small packet of ‘Intimate Wipes’ out of any four storey window in any reasonably densely populated area of the UK (even in Norfolk if it landed on JonnyB) it would land on the head or at the feet of a ‘good egg’, an all round ‘jolly good sort’. I even include (how could I not?) da Goldfish in this…anyone who can go off on one as only he can must possess more humanity in the tip of his little finger than any of the Scrutons or some such (Levin excepted) to be found on the editorial pages of the Times. You are all linked on the right, you know who you are. Friends? No. But in a very real sense, also yes. I feel better knowing you are there. And I do know you. You know I do. No one is that disciplined as to be able to write regularly and succeed in keeping that part of themselves which is essential hidden from view. I could argue that if you had a sufficient outlet for expressing your true selves in your fleshly, corporeal lives, then your blogs would be redundant. Thank god they are not.

Thanks, in no particular order go to…

Bykersink over at Wor Man in Hanoi for reaching the parts for which Amstel and Stella have no route map. Tears are not enough. A brave man and good. I hope we can meet next season in the Prem.

Bob Piper for putting me in my place. Thanks, Bob. I needed that. And keep up the good work.

Peter over at Naked Blog…an inspiration. And I mean that most sincerely, folks.

The Choobies, Karen and Pete at Uborka for their wit, wisdom and acerbic comments about Hungary.

Roger the Shrub over at the Six Dwarfs. You were okay then, Rog and you’re okay now. Less of the negative vibes, Moriarity.

The Urban Badger for giving me the opportunity of reaching the parts that only the Doctor can reach.

The UK Today and the Yorkshire Ranter for reminding me that there are more things in life than sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. No really, there are.

The Jones girl at Bridget Who? who, besides possessing the exact same name as my own particular ‘lost girl’, had the bare-faced cheek/brass neck/effrontery to publish pictures of herself in highly embarrassing, but deliciously sexy Village People mode. She could indeed, keep her hat on. I remain, hormonally yours…

And to all you other buggers, raising a smile, a grin, a chuckle, chortle or belly laugh or occasionally even tears, thank you. Thank you so much. You do make a difference.

Tomorrow (if all goes according to plan), a glimpse into the future.

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