A scorching day – up to Soho with B to attend a recording of a new radio programme. Beautiful.
Enough playing about. I must find something more valuable to say. Time to start the diary of a lifetime. No more flaking out by February 2nd. This time, I will stay the course and create a weblog of such staggering power and thoughtfulness that my family will beg me to carry on, rather than their more traditional practice of simply elbowing me aside from the computer. But I think I may have to gear up to that slowly. It’s a scary business, public writing. I’il have to maintain a flippant demeanour for some days or even weeks before this begins to feel like a sensible activity
I’ll start small. I suppose I could offer some insight into my lovely life. Just like they do in Hello. There’s my son, Bilbo, and my beloved, Frodo, both of whom spend far more time online than can possibly be healthy. Obviously, if this is really like Hello, they won’t be with me for much longer, as our relationship will crash and burn like the short lived meteor that is the celebrity marriage. Wait for me Brad, I’ll be along any minute now.
From a livestock point of view, there’s the mad cat. And we’re also about to become the proud owners of an African Land Snail. I’m not sure how I’ll cope with this as I gather they require industrial quantities of cucumber and cuttle fish. How do you cuttle fish? And how can I persuade the neighbours that not only do they have to feed the cat every few weeks as we ponce off on yet another exotic holiday, but now they also have to create crudites for increasingly bulky crustaceans. [Do snails count as crustaceans? I can see this is blog has the potential to be an educational and mind expanding experience for me.] Somehow, it seems a bit trivial, asking someone to feed your snail. Especially when they’re a new mother, up to their ears in Napisan and lactating freely. The neighbour, not the snail, of course. I think the snail is a boy snail.