HAPPY 4TH BIRTHDAY, LESSER B

Well, here we are… We've finally staggered our way to Lesser Blogfordshire's fourth birthday [Alarums, Loud huzzahs! Toots on cardboard trumpets, etc] as this blog arrives at the point where four entire years of my life have been barely catalogued in the pursuit of something so trivial and pointless that it was hardly worth mentioning… although an awful lot of mentioning is what I appear to have done to little avail.

Although, technically we haven't reached that particular landmark at all, or rather we have, but it wasn't on this day that it all happened. The first fumblings in the dark happened about a week earlier but were deleted (or at least moved elsewhere) out of sheer embarrassment, but given that post number one bears today's date, in some small way it has become, by default, the "official birthday" of this most trivial of nonsenses.

So… what have we learned as we have travelled this rocky path over the last four years, or a full eight percent of my time squatting upon this miserable little planet?

Turning on the television early this morning I discovered that the game of stickball seems to garner far more interest than I could ever imagined possible, and the latest bout of it appears to have made some people very happy, and some others less so, a situation that will no doubt either change around or be repeated the next time they all gather to do exactly the same thing.

I also learned that contrary to popular opinion, volcanoes are very, very dangerous and unpredictable things which any sensible human being should steer well clear of, but seldom do. On a more personal level, during my commute to work this morning, I discovered that tw*ts in BMWs who have an arbitrary attitude to lane markings seldom have to pay the penalty for their utter, utter tw*ttishness.

Over the weekend I decided to try my hand at "proper" writing again, only to find that, after four solid(ish) years of regular practice here in Lesser Blogfordshire, I can no longer write for toffee, and my pathetic attempt to knock out something vaguely original about dinosaurs was the biggest waste of a Sunday afternoon since the game of stickball (for which the boots of BMWs seem to have been particularly designed to convey the various sticks), was invented.

You see? Everything IS connected after all...

So… four years, eh…?

Four years…

Four years in which to discover that I'm really not all that interested in bloody people and the comings and goings and doings of their wretched extended families; Four years during which I found out that I used to write far much more about my mother than seems reasonable, and the void that she has left has left me struggling to find anything else to talk about; Four years in which I have discovered much about myself that is unpleasant and which probably explains quite why I have been abandoned by pretty much everyone who I ever spent any time with; Four years of self-examination which has finally revealed to me that I am lazier, angrier, more annoyed and far, far unhappier about just about everything than I could ever have imagined when I first sat down and thought "Oh, the website says that it's a free service… maybe I could try some of this blogging lark…"

Happy birthday…

And, as the unshot ending of "Withnail and I" might have put it…

"Chin. chin…!"