Friday, May 24, 2013

Final post

Having dragged the arse out of the blog for the last while, it's time to bring it to a close. I always said to myself that I'd finish up on a nice, curvy 803 posts, and that is a complete lie.

But it is time.

I've threatened this to myself for a couple of years now, but it's only over the last couple of days that it has decided to quit me. Life has grown too full of things that I can't commit to a public forum. Too much is searchable, everything has become shareable, all reality is being seen to death.

I started the blog in August 2004 and am happy to have encountered many good writers, and some great ones, that have pushed me through and kept me going when I'd lost momentum.

I hope I've written some good stuff. I know I've scribbled some detritus but that's what happens when you've never had, or wanted, a theme.

Playing favourites here, I still love to see Andrew (Chancing My Arm) and Rosie (The Spanish Exposition) post and I hope they keep it up, however infrequent, through their married life. Gimme (Stranded on Gaia) is a horrible tease in the best way possible, while I've lamented the full stops of Annie Rhiannon, Terence McDanger and Therese Cox in particular.

Others, too, over the years and they've been in the sidebar for a reason.

I'm going to keep paying Google a tenner a year to keep it open, hopefully it'll gather some sepia and I'll be able to show it to the grandkids before they kick me in the shins and run away.

Thanks for stopping by, and onwards...

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Start to slide out of touch

One former wedding shirt and a pair of good pants later, I swear to dear sweet baby Ranulph I had become one of them.

The signs? A tin-can line of traffic down the South Circular Road, a bus hugging the pavement trees, a coffee cup of Montague Street and a slip through Foster Place.

New people, new circumstances, a constant wage for the first time in four years. No more freelancing, sweating on the shift sheets, nor emails to editors telling them to keep me in mind for this or that or St Stephen's Day.

It feels good, has felt good, even if I may look down at my attire on a Friday and be accidentally casual.

Some words have been lost for sure, and I haven't imagined Radgering since whenever when, but I'll set aside some hope for now that those will come back in time.

Also, that things will settle themselves into a far greater rhythm, that dread of the end of the month and the slog of inpermanence gone and those two things most happily forgotten.