OK, I admit it. I didn't blog every day while on holiday - although I did make a good deal of use of my laptop. And I haven't blogged since I got back.
It's not that I've been too busy, although heaven alone knows, my feet haven't touched and Bosworth seems a dim and distant memory. I suppose it's a symptom of my contrary nature. Indeed the fact that I only blog once in a blue moon anyway is a similar symptom. I hate HATE being told what to do. Yes, I know, I suspect that most people feel that way to a certain extent, but I even get snarky when reminding myself that I need to do something.
And when I get snarky, I dig my heels in. When that happens, my hyper-guilt swings into action and I start telling myself off - which make me snarky. In go the heels again and... well, you get the idea.
So when that Blogger tab comes up in my browser, I gloss over the gut wrench, suppress the angry curl of the lip, completely ignore the fact that it's so long since I last blogged that my latest post is about to apply for its pension, and navigate quietly away, intent on anything but honouring my self-imposed commitment to the edification of the internet by means of my shallow and meaningless drivel.
I'm not going to apologise for my absence. To begin with, I don't suppose anyone gives a toss anyway, but in any case apology would seem to admit to a level of culpability which would only result in guilt and we all know where that would lead.
Getting snarky with a laptop on one's lap is dangerous. Laptops don't fly particularly well. It's a well-known fact, the realisation of which would only occur to me in that instant just after the very last one in which I could realistically have reversed that latest in a lifetime of disastrous actions.
And I suppose there's just an outside chance that that would make me - oooh, what's the word? Oh yes. That's it.
Snarky.
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