It’s six months today since I started this blog.
I’ve written 132 posts, many of them different. Some of them I’m quietly proud of, some of them make me groan aloud when I think of them. Some of them have been funny (many of these intentionally so), some of them have been angry, some have been full of self-woe. A number of them have featured a picture of Yelena Isinbayeva, often on the flimsiest of pretexts, and sure I haven’t put in a picture of her for a while, so here’s one now.
The blog probably would have been a lot more interesting had I started it last year when the blackouts were actually going on. You could have been regaled with the hilarious tale of my day in A&E at the Mater after I smashed my face off the Millennium Walkway, or the fortuitous story of how I blacked out while on the operating table in St Vincent’s just as they were going to put in a heart monitor to see if they could find out why I was blacking out (now that’s timing).
I still feel that one day I’ll say more about how I felt during last year, when I couldn’t drive, or swim, or walk anywhere alone, and every test that I was being given was coming up negative, but at the moment I still prefer to push last year to the back of my mind, and concentrate on the fact that everything worked out fine. Perhaps around the anniversary of the actual pacemaker operation (Tinman’s birthday, I suppose you could call it) I will do so.
In the meantime I’ll just potter along as I have done. I know it’s not Dickens, but he probably didn’t get too many blog hits either.