Saturday, 4 October 2008

Nanagedon

We were at Granny's last weekend. How times change, I drafted this on Granny's PC. (What a banal statement. "How times change." This is what times do. If times didn't change, would they be times?)

Er, so. Yes. Granny collected us at the station and took us to the supermarket to buy groceries (why else would one go...?) and while we were there, we bumped into an old friend. When you're a granny, I guess you have more than a few old friends bumping around in the background.

Anyway, this old friend was also something of a lost acquaintance. Not been seen for yonks, that sort of thing. So, while I stood there looking awkward, and Kate stood there looking magnificent, the old ladies started on the only conversation possible in the situation. Namely, who's sprogged, who's dead and who's got/recovered from [insert grisly ailment, and graphic description thereof]

Now the journal tries to shy away from mundane subjects, most of the time. "Shys away from all subjects, most of the time", I hear you mutter. (I hear you mutter this because I'm bugging the computers of everyone I know in an attempt to get material for my genre defying play called simply "No title")

Anyway, yes, there has been a lack of posting this year. And last year. Sorry about that. I was busy. Sort of. I had the best of intentions. Like Blair, but without the power, or the god-awful grin.

But, once again, I digress, and I sense you grow bored of this rambling tale.

The point is that one reaches a point in one's life when one hasn't had a meaningful conversation about one's life for a while, or written about it on their tedious blog and rather than fire off an email with a description of exactly what type of croop the dog has, or put the whole lot down in a round-robin (shudder) and sent it out with the Christmas cards (double-shudder), or, most horrifying of all, have an actual real life conversation with someone (beyond shudder), if only on the telephone, I can, instead, post everything I've got up to in the last year and a half on here, and why I bump into Ross Macdonald outside Waitrose I can just "W.W.W.DOT.I.A.M.S.I.L.K.DOT.C.O.M." at him, and run away.

So a heck of a lot has been happening. Stuff and that. So much to talk about, some many happens.

So ... oh, is that the doorbell?

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