Well, here we are, what? Still a bit foggy as to exactly what sort of thing you're meant to put on these interweb log thingies. Since I got laid up with a touch of gout I've been rattling around the place with nothing to do. The gardener's son, a bookish type with a club foot, always on about his 'net pals, LAN parties and whatnot, says to get a blog.
"What the shitting arse is a blog, you pencil-necked young weasel?" I enquired amiably of him.
Apparently if you don't like going out much and have no real friends, you get one of these internet thingies and vapour on about your ailments and what you've been up to, that sort of rot.
Well, I'll try anything once, except for incest and morris dancing, so here we all are, eh?I expect I'll have to get up to some sort of adventure to justify doing another entry in the old journal. And maybe that's the point. Eh? Eh?
Anyway, that claret has been breathing long enough I reckon, time for it to see the Colonel from the inside.
Pip pip for now.