Appealing to my sense of the ridiculous

Friends, neutrals and everyone else:

The world of the blog is a world to behold in wonderment.

It’s marginally better than watching weeds grow but, by golly, if anyone tells me ever again that we live in a time poor, cash rich society I shall send them straight to some rather extraordinary sites where people have time to describe and give photographic evidence of their clothes and aftershave. If you do so, say in the privacy of your email exchange with someone who genuinely cares how much you paid for which item, fair enough. As I said to AJ the other day (he does write a great page), and do I not just love the Irish (and the Welsh, of course), one of the most wonderful features of his blog is that he doesn’t let us know whether he cut his toenails earlier in the morning.

By the way if you are in a rush when typing “blog” it can easily come out as bog.

I think we have all gone mad.

U

Talking to myself

I have finally realised what my blog is good for.

Nine o’clock BST on a Sunday morning no one, and I mean no one, in which ever part of the world, is awake. My dear M, since we only spoke a few hours ago and you were going to work through the night, who could blame you. As to the rest of you…

Anyway this is about gardening. Paul, it’s ok, you don’t need to bring the mower after all; the lawn is, as of yesterday, under control – does wonders for your biceps. (Do you think Roshan would lend me a hand if forced to show it?) As not to disturb the neighbours I only started weeding the front about an hour ago. I don’t mind battling with nature but you have to ask yourself some serious questions in the face of a suburbian front garden.

And if you are hoping for any answers: Forget it.

Sometimes I think life is like a steeple chase, jumping unnecessary hurdles. No wonder, I bunked off so many PE lessons. Which reminds me of you, my dearest sweetest Vern, taking the easy way out: You are into cacti which, you hope, won’t need watering. But they do need talking to; or they start wilting from the inside out. How did you once advise me: Throw caution to the wind.

Which I think I have just done with this self indulgent post.

U

The missing link

You make a friend; a bond from heaven almost as intoxicating as if in the flush of romance. You connect, you exchange confidences; you have fallen in love without the need for exchanging bodily fluids (if ever there was a phrase I hate).

Time goes by. And then, slowly but steadily … you get to know your friend’s other friends. Most of them perfectly fine, in line as it were; yet there is the odd bit of brass in the jewel box. Now what?

Should we judge and decide on our friends by the friends they keep? Or should we just go and stuff ourselves?

U