I know, I've been slacker than a cheap whore's money maker of late. I'd like to say it's because I've been so focused on my exercise regime that when not pumping my body full of lactic acid and natural endorphins I've been stood in front of a mirror admiring my finely tuned physique.
Obviously I can't say that as it would be an obscenely large mountain of bullshit and only slightly more difficult to swallow than a BBC press release stating that they are actively seeking a woman over the age of 50 to present a popular Saturday night entertainment program.
Anyway, I've no doubt my absence from the densely populated blogosphere has gone largely unnoticed so my preoccupation with other, more interesting, things was under no pressure to cease being indulged.
“What is this wondrous new thing that has kept you from projecting your innermost thoughts out into the void where they are free to roam and meet other thoughts, do some networking, get a job and then turn up on your doorstep one July morning laughing at you, dressed in a fine suit from Slaters in Liverpool, a good one, not one of the cheap ones off the rack but a proper tailored one, like you'd only get for a really special occasion like your wedding, but is now before you being worn as a regular day suit?”
Well no-one in particular, It's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to refrain from such intrusions in future.
2 comments:
It was the Margheritas, wasn't it?
I never laid a finger on Marg' and I don't know any Ritas.
Hmm, sounded better in my head!
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