Those of you who read Terry Pratchett (and those of you don’t, should) will be familiar with the above phrase.
One of the witches in the books, Granny Weatherwax, occasionally goes “borrowing”, i.e., letting her mind into the mind of another creature, such as an eagle, so she can share its experiences. While she is doing this she is, by all appearances, dead, so has taking to placing a card saying “I Ate’nt Dead” on her chest as she lies there so that she doesn’t wake up in a coffin.
I feel a bit like that at the moment, since I just can’t think of anything to post about. Last week I was reduced to posting a piece about my cutlery. While we’re waiting for the emergency budget there doesn’t seem any point in writing about the economy. There are only so many ways I can say “Cut the crap and the ludicrous benefits to yourselves, and show some guts with dealing with the bankers & developers, and you’ll find us all much more willing to accept sacrifices ourselves.” This should be so obvious that it shouldn’t need to be said, but I have an awful feeling that they’re still not getting it. Still, I’m continuing to hope, at last, for some leadership.
So what else is there? The rugby? Yes, it was wonderful, with a finale that you couldn’t possibly make up, but other, far better, writers that me will commerate the event. ( I will say, though, that while Ronan O’Gara’s last gasp drop goal was desperately important, I’m not sure it was all that impressive. He put the ball high over the bar from 14 yards out, standing untackled in front of the goal. Those of us who follow Man U watched Andy Cole spend a decade doing that).
The Tinkids are obstinately refusing to do anything cute, endearing or just plain daft at present, so are a poor source of material. The office is very quiet since the redundancies, and so many of my friends are gone.
So I’ve missed quite a few days of posting recently. Which is not a problem, of course, but it did make me think of something. Recently Laughykate wrote this post about looking up symptoms on the Internet and deciding she had a brian aneurism. It was very funny, and also so true (you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I looked seriously at when I had the blackouts). Rather alarmingly, though, she then didn’t post anything for three days.
As time goes on in the blogiverse, you get to meet virtually people who become virtual friends. But you don’t even know their real names (unless they out themselves and their um, activities in a national newspaper), we don’t know where they live. How would we know if anything actually happened to one of them one day?