Utah Saints

You find me in the kitchen, making pancakes and listening to "Utah Saints" radio on Spotify. (For those unfamiliar with you concept, you type 'name of band' into the Spotify "App" and Spotify then plays you music by this band, and bands it seems "'similar'". Every 30 minutes Microsoft tries to convince you to buy something you neither understand, nor need, nor know how to buy.)

I haven't posted since June. I have posted anything meaningful since ... er. I came to Blogger with the intention of posting something with great meaning, as the world demands it. But the world really doesn't demand it. Blogging is displacement activity. I might as well go to The Guardian and post a really hard-hitting below the line post under one of the Brexit articles, for all the good it would do.

Every morning I open the (virtual) newspaper with a certain macabre fascination, to see what awful things have happened overnight. My focus is largely Trump, but there's always a chance of that David Davis or Nicolás Maduro, say, could have served up something both fantastically stupid and horribly regressive in the last 10 hours. Trump's the banker, though. Hunter S Thompson once dedicated a collection of writings "To Richard Milhous Nixon, who never let me down". I suspect he'd be less than impressed by Trump. A cheap remake, without the charm.

So, yeah, blogging about it isn't going to help. I need to (a) do something else (suggestions welcome) and (b) blog some more about pubs, and cricket, and stuff.

Cheerio!