In which The Author finds himself at the halfway mark
Here we are at the midpoint of NaBloPoMo. I’ve managed fourteen posts in as many days (and I threw in a bonus post in case I ran out of steam.) Here I am. It’s Friday night. I’m in Aberdare. It’s Children in bloody Need night.
I’ve been here before, in case you were wondering. Nose-Painting, Sleep and Urine pretty much covered my views on telethons and other enforced methods of charitable extortion.
After being captured by (in order) Rowland, Gema and Martin H. (all of whom have gone home in various states of play) I decided it was time to mark the passing of Lou Reed by spending a quid in the Prince jukebox: Venus in Furs, Waiting for the Man, and White Light/White Heat back to back.
Lauren B., the barbint, was horrified by the white noise typhoon which engulfed her while she was playing with the stove. She got off lightly – as soon as my selections had finished, we were back to Carly Simon and David Soul (who pass for cutting-edge in this place.)
I selected a track from Miles Davis’ 1959 LP Kind of Blue in here about a month ago. That very nearly caused a riot. Tonight, I cranked the timeline forward by a decade or so, and just about lived to regret it. Pre-punk garage rock from when I was in nappies is way too progressive for the fucking dinosaurs in here!
I’m really just posting this to prove that I’m still around and still participating in NaBloPoMo. Check back through the Foreword & Contents, and you’ll see that on times I’ve gone for a couple of months without posting anything.
At other times, I’ve posted twice a day.
Second Post.
I remember when the Royal Mail used to post twice a day as well. In his very funny and insightful examination of the English language Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson pointed out a lovely linguistic incongruity. I still point it to out to friends of mine who are studying English – mainly because I’m extremely jealous that I didn’t spot it first. I can’t remember the exact words, because I lent the book to a friend of mine when we were students, and both of them vanished without trace. However, it goes something like this:
In Britain, the Royal Mail delivers the post. In America, the US Postal Service delivers the mail.
Go figure…
An Autobiography in Random Chapters 