I promised myself I’d limit this kind of post to a Friday only, so please just ignore Wednesday’s post (it’s full of woe anyway…). In fact so am I, being a Wednesday child. Explains a lot, doesn’t it.
Er… no. Not really.
Things wot I have learned to be effective #627: Don’t tag people with a Meme, let them lift it for themselves. Much more efficient than the usual “tag you’re it” method, and ensures no-one feels ‘excluded’ when you don’t pick them.
So, if comment is free why are all the comments riddled with dross and insults and negativity? No wait, that’s WHY they are full of dross, insults and negativity, because they are free… it’s a cyclic paradox wrapped in an enigma, cloaked by … ohh you know the drill..
I propose a new title: “comment is free, but only if you have something constructive to offer”.
Admittedly it’s not as catchy and yes, sometimes the quality of the articles could be better, but sometimes I think that blogs have a lot of bad things to answer for… but then I remember that it’s nothing to do with blogs and everything to do with ranting, opinionated, glory-seeking idiots.
Ladies and Gentlepeeps, if you don’t have something interesting to say, SHUT THE FUCK UP! And yes, THAT comment IS free. Pass it on.
I fully expect that previous nugget of wisdom to boomerang around this little corner of blogland and smack me square on the nose.
I’ve been toying with setting up an olde fashioney “homepage”. That means moving this blog and ideally doing clever things with redirects and such. Not exactly sure what I want to do yet but thoughts, advice and general “no! for the love of all things cute and fluffy, don’t do it!” comments are, as usual, more than welcome.
After all, if you lot didn’t keep commenting
I couldn’t keep ignoring you this site wouldn’t be half as much fun, or even ⅝ as much …
Whilst First ScotRail are improving, the conduct of passengers is still a matter of concern.
As well as ignoring my telepathetic glares to turn down THEIR music which I can hear over MY music —but that’s because I’m considerate and don’t play my music at ear-bleeding volumes—
it seems that some unsavoury types have decided that it’s OK to start boarding the train whilst others are getting off.
Yesterday morning I found myself nearest the doors and, as they hissed open and I moved forward, some oik started to step up into the carriage. Next thing I know and my hand is thrust inches from his chest, palm out, and I’m doing my best Barbara Woodhouse impression:
“Wait.” said firmly, with authority.
And he did (“Good dog!”).
He stood there looking bemused, mouth slightly agape, whilst behind me a small cheer rippled through the carriage.
I may have imagined that last bit.
Now I’m not sure it’s related, but have I mentioned that I’m currently reading the latest offering from Lynn Truss, Talk to the Hand?