Today it seems I have more traffic than the B5023 Wirksworth Road through the town of Idridgehay - the residents of which are forever banging on about people speeding and bemoaning the day that the government saw fit to allow motorized horses loose without a preceding man with yellow flag.
What this means I'm not sure. It's been a while since I tried the old trick of dropping blogsearch friendly terms and phrases like "Koreans eat Ellen's dog" or "Lindsay Lohan Sex Tape" into a paragraph to lure the perverted and unsuspecting (most of whom seemed to come from Saudi Arabia I have to say) so I'm thinking that this sudden surge must be something else.
I refuse to believe that people are visiting to hear my veilled hints at possible changes afoot or that they're here to hear me complain about having to call the movers. And much as I'd like to believe it I doubt that people are here for the gags - like the eyes of two Cyclops in a long distance relationship they are few and far apart (cylopses? cyclopsi?)
Maybe it's the spectre of death. The promise that something mentioned in passing is actually a malignancy that's killing me as I type. But then the spectre of death has hung over these pages in the past and the only extra people who visited were those who thought that a funeral may have good sandwiches and perhaps a decent song or two (no Angels for this guy)
Then what? What would drive me to a site is the pressure cooker recently described. Am I about to be minted a diamond or instead squished down to primordial sludge and used to manouvre a Buick around 4 and a half inches? There's certainly interest in there. The potential for total meltdown is high and the consequences potentially hilarious - if Britney could make the front pages with 5 blows of an umbrella then what celebrity could I muster from a street tantrum?
A therapist would say that it might be an indicator that people genuinely cared and were interested in me and my wellbeing. But then if I had so many caring people around yme, miss therapist, why am I paying for someone to talk to?
So instead I'm going to plump for an entirely different theory. There's been a groundswell, an upturn, a deluge of interest in the idea of Dakota Fanning playing me in a movie and people want to be able to say - oh well of course, I read the blog years ago.
Okay 8pm - Quorn time.
2 comments:
None of us have loved ones around us because we all move way too far and frequently. Thinking now might be a good time to build a compound in the woods and make all our residents too scared to leave.
Sausages! I should thought it was perfectly obvious why we hang around your blog: we're just waiting for you to post another saucy pik of 'er indoors! Such is the lure of soft-lit porn that we just keep coming back on the off-chance that we might see a hint of nork.
Hey, we're your friends, matey - you chose us, you're stuck with us, I'm afraid! :)
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