I have been nowhere and done nothing
I have not been anywhere so have nothing to write.
However this makes me feel a bit guilty for my twoish loyal followers and the hopeful hundreds who find my blog by googling ‘Dogging in Skipton’ or ‘Sexy Sychronised Swimming Scarecrows’ and are then left bereft and possibly annoyed by the paucity of such lurid content apart from a photo of a straw stuffed hag in a sagging elderly cossie as part of the Wray Scarecrow Festival and a Word Document moan about dog poo in Skipton.
I like looking at my stats but it also makes me fear for humanity and the dark thoughts that dwell inside the average Google surfer who lands upon my blog.
If you are not thinking about sex, you are thinking about the undead. No wonder the Twilight franchise is so popular.
Chingle Hall, an allegedly splendidly haunted house near Preston which used to be open to the public but now is not and something I wrote about many moons ago, crops up foremost with feverish viewers asking ‘Is Chingle House open to the public?’ , something I should have typed in myself before driving twenty miles to watch the owner slowly gardening from a public footpath quite a way away.
Someone could benefit from registering ‘Car boot sale Dumfries’ to help those poor souls possibly writing on a Dell Keyboard with several letters missing (‘Aye, you can get them letters cheap online’ who want to just instantly find the time and place of a cold Scottish car boot sale on the Borders (and possibly the seller of the cheap laptop) but then get about 1000 words of Southern waffle about Clairol Foot Spas instead.
Today someone was desperate to find a phallus shaped stone in Liverpool and thus found my blog despite my haziness about writing about willy stones in the Wirral.
When you are not thinking about porn, car boot sales and ghosts, (a happy combination which should surely become a bestseller should I add a few connectives and adjectives) hippies in Totnes seduce you and there has either been one desperate individual or 13 sad unimaginative or perverted souls (hiya!) who have found my blog by Googling ‘Inspector Gadget costumes’, strangely something I have never ever written about.
So anyway, I have been nowhere far because it is extremely cold and we lack money to go somewhere else-and we’re talking Ulverston here, not the Carribean.
Christmas is coming so Lancaster is heaving, I will probably kill someone or indeed anyone if I hear the over exaggerated overdramatised over played shriek of ‘IIIIIiiit’s CHRISTMAS!!!!’ in the middle of Slade’s hideous seasonal (and only) hit.
There is a Chestnut seller who roars in a cheerily Victorian way but he is ignored due to the shove towards the Calendar Club shop.
Christmas has already been here for far too long-I started seeing the cards displayed in August and due to the weather got confused and panic bought some christmas cards of Highlander Terriers in the snow.
I saw the first flurry of Easter eggs, the small Creme Egg and Caramel Egg displays that hint at Easter the other day in a Premier shop. Somewhen soon, the relentless advance of selling will start to chase its tail and it will be at least three years fast forwarded unless the Mayan Calendar has its delighful apocolyptical way.
In which case we are all dead.