And once more, I post an update saying LOOK! I STILL BLOG! Im TOTALLY going to start blogging properly and in earnest again, just WATCH me! and something happens to make sure that sure as eggs is eggs (and they are. Or is. They ARE is eggs. How does that saying work, anyway?) I cannot and do not blog.

This time, my blog got lice. Evil, terrifying, spam-filled tiny bloglice that meant that whenever people tried to visit my site they got big flashing red signs saying OH NO DONT GO TO THIS SITE IT HAS LICE! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!! RUN AWAY OR YOULL GET THE LURGY! and then many of them (you) contacted me to tell me so. And I didnt get back to many of them (you) because I had literally no idea what was going on and was a bit sad and upset by it all but didnt have any time to try and work it out.

However, we have now worked it out. I think. And fixed it. Of course, Ill say that, and the someone will email immediately and say Oh, by the way, I was just reading something about how your blog was all fixed, and then I noticed my monitor felt itchy, and that there was a little tender rash on the rim of my browser, and then suddenly a BLOGLOUSE scuttled across my screen and frankly I blame you.

And now oh god, I dont know why Im tempting fate like this again NOW, Im totally and utterly and completely back on the blogging thing. Yup. Blogging. Look at me, ma, Im blogging, etc!

Well, at least its blog material

Today, the builders, who have now been doing important works on our (rented) house showed up unexpectedly. Theyd wandered off on wednesday last week saying that they might not be back in the morning, because there was another, very much more important job they were supposed to be on, and they would, almost certainly, return on Monday. On Tuesday we called our landlord, just to check whether we should be expecting builders or not, only to be told theyd be back on Thursday.

On Wednesday thats today, today is Wednesday I was having a shower after the gym when I heard the door rattling, and banging, and thinking it was My Beloved and Doozer returned from a walk with no keys, emerged from my shower wearing only a towel. It wasnt my beloved. It was the builders.

Oh! I said. They told us you wouldnt be coming until tomorrow!
Were not they said. Were just here to measure the skirting boards
But youre here! I squeaked.
No no, not today they said, hauling their tools through the open door.

I grabbed clothes from the bedroom, scuttled into the bathroom and, in a hurry, slipped over on a particularly ineffectual shower mat that we were talking about just yesterday (That new shower mat is very ineffectual, my beloved had said Yes, I had replied, it would be really easy to slip over on that if you were in a hurry), and landed with a large, loud BUMP on the floor.
I swore a lot.
Are you ok? shouted the builders Id never met before, up the stairs.
I shouted back. BUT YES. I DONT NEED HELP
And then I resumed swearing.

It was like one of those genre of films where tradesmen arrive in the middle of the day to find the lady of the house in skimpy clothing, and ribald shenanigans ensue. Except with no sex, and a LOT more grumpy swearing.

Anyway: I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, and I thought to myself In the good old days, I would at least comfort myself by thinking well, at least its blog material.

It is time I thought that way again.
Except with (sometimes) better stories, obviously.
But mainly with returning to writing and writing and writing for no recompense, and no real reason. I really again miss it. This time I am, actually, back.

NameBookFaceNet. SayStuf.

Let me just note, before we get started, this is not the glorious return to blogging i had planned

I have been meaning, for the worlds longest time (not literally, metaphorically, the worlds longest time is actually a very long time some billion million years or something, and frankly I havent been thinking about this that long. Though I have been thinking about other things for that long. Where I left the nail clippers, for example. Why my almost-six-month-old-son already has a drawer full of single socks with no matching sock to be found anywhere, that kind of thing) to make a list of the fake internet sites that TV shows make up in order not to get in legal trouble with the real internet sites that theyre referencing.

They must have a terrible time thinking up these things. After all, most of the truly awful website names ahve already been taken by real, actual websites, so they need to come up with something utterly and completely terrible before it is unique enough to be unique and safe from legal threats.

These things mainly tend to be in american crime dramas that are ripped from the headlines. And the more that the internet (and social media in particular) features in every kind of crime and every other aspect of life the more they occur, and they worse they get, and the more I love them.

The one that made me think of it tonight:

Friend Agenda a facebook clone site. [CSI: Crime Scene Investigation].

I just wanted to make this place as somewhere that I can add all the others that Ive been meaning to make a note of. FacePlace. YouFace. FaceBranch. Another Youniverse. NameFrame. Vidtrope. FaceUnion. And I will come back and make a note of these properly as soon as I confirm which show theyre from and when they were used. This is mainly a placemarker for that.

In the meantime, hello, and I am coming back to blogging. Or at least thats what the three open windows with various posts about various things tell me. I have been very, very sad about neglecting my boat. And dont even get me started on how I havent changed my backdrop on the blog since I left san francisco. You know what I need? A version of the original 2001 artwork with the big boat towing a little boat. Ill get onto that.

Drama, exercise, desperation

Due to several months of appointments, classes and refusal to nap anywhere but during long pram walks (thats doozer, not me, I never refuse to nap anywhere), we walk the seafront a lot. We walk the seafront in sun, in rain, in wind and in fog, and sometimes in all of them at once, given what the weather has been like this year.

Thanks to this, I not only have an incredible lower-arm tan (Oooh, youre brown, have you been anywhere nice? said the health visitor when I saw her last week. No. Well, yes. Ive been pacing Hove Lawns in an attempt to induce sleep, I growled), but I also have a great knowledge of the type of people who walk on the seafront at any particular time of day, week, or season.


1) New Parents Pushing Enormous Prams.

Theyre happy to be there, in that it is outside, and quiet (apart from the torrential rain lashing at their hoods and wind whipping around their heads), but the baby is sleeping and that is intrinsically calming.

2) Doomed Lovers.

Not doomed as in they are bound for death, just as in they arent going to be together very long. Possibly not beyond the next five minutes. You cannot generally get close enough to hear them, because they are locked in tear-filled embraces close to the crashing waves, but if you could, they would be saying things like O god! Its not that I dont love you! I love you so much it hurts, and that is why we cannot be together! You are TOO perfect for me. And other things that make sense when you are 20-something years old and bored and want to go and have sex with other people but arent quite sure how to phrase that. They stand there, locked in a moping embrace, staring at the waves and feeling like it is a Giant Metaphor for their Whole Relationship. They will individually look back on this in 15 years and either laugh, or cringe, or both.

3) Joggers.

Because as everyone knows, joggers are nuts.


I wish I was blogging more at the moment. I wish that constantly, and fervently. I wish I had just a couple more hours in the evening so I could do things like eat AND start to get back to work AND answer emails and write things people have asked for AND write on this, my muchly beloved blog.

I wish that I was better at netball. Or running. Actually, probably just running, Ive never had an interest in netball, I dont even know why I said that.

I wish wed managed to send out the thank you cards to all our friends and family before the 200 photos we got printed to put in them were 3 months out of date.

I wish I could find the time and perfect words to tell you right now, while its happening how amazing and tiring and frustrating and wonderful and terrifying having a small person to look after is, but those of you who have one already know and those who dont probably dont care. Which is all fine.

I wish unicorns had heatproof horns so you could use them as emergency kebab skewers.

I wish I had responded to all the emails that I have on my REPLY TO THESE LOVELY PEOPLE WHO WERe NICE ENOUGH to EMAIL YOU list. If you are on that list, I cannot apologise enough.

Because apparently, in order to apologise enough, I would have to email you.

Which I am not organised enough to do.

I will though, honest. I might leave the apologising enough bit out though, because that would probably take up more time than just writing the email if I did it.

I wish Id made that last paragraph shorter.

I wish Id bought that other chair before someone else did and I ended up with this one, although this one is also nice so on reflection I retract that.

I wish I wasnt so tired and hungry all the time. More hungry. More tired. More tired. More Hungry. I wish I could be neither, just for a couple of days. that would be very exciting.

I wish world peace, happiness and justice for all etc.

I wish Id got to see that film the other week, but it was only on for one night, and there wasnt any way I could get there.

I wish. Hm. I wish it would stop bloody raining and do something a bit more summery.

I wish oh lots of things.

I wish there werent two other things I told myself I had to write before bedtime tonight so I could write more soon. More copiously. More often. More Right Now.

I wish I wish I wish.

Facts about Otters

That may or may not be true

Otters use hair gel.

Otter babies are very slippery and are commonly shot more than 450 feet during the birthing process. An extra-elasticated umbilical cord generally returns the otter to its mother, or somewhere nearby. Or upstream.

There is a documentary series in the pipes called How The Otter Half Live, about class divides in the Dutch otter community.

There has never been an otter prime minister.

Apparently (* Thank you La Lynne on twitter), Otters are called The Black Beast in the Gaelic. Which is reassuring, if it means there are no more threatening animals in Scotland deserving of the name.

To the human eye, otter penises look very tiny. On the otter hand, however, theyre very large.

– Otters are multilingual, but speak very very quietly.

The most famous burlesque otter dancer is called Lotta.

Lotta the Hotta Otta.

Each year, otters vote for their favourite artforms. In 2011, Otters voted overwhelmingly for their favourite film, in a 90% landslide. It was Showgirls.

Otters have very bad taste in films. And are very slow to get the latest releases.

There are fewer blogs written by otters than there are blogs written by people called Simon.

There are no otters called simon. The name is deeply frowned upon in the otter community, as it means something very, very rude in otter.

A group of otters started a political demonstration in sympathy with the one in New York last year. However, Otterpy The Corner Of This River Bend did not make as big a splash as they had been hoping.

A ha ha ha ha ha. Splash.

Otters dont really eat fish. They do, however, like to eat other things, moulded into the shape of fish. Like chicken.

Otters would like me to apologise on their behalf to any primary school students googling Facts About Otters for a school project years from now. Otters would like me to state that it was not their idea. I am not an official otter spokesperson. Or even an official spokesotter.

There is no such thing as an official spokesotter.