I’m so sorry. My bloggingness has gone missing. I’ve spent half the afternoon hunting for it down the back of the sofa and under the bed, and it’s just bloody gone.
Tell you what. Why don’t you, oh much loved and respected Gentle Readers, ask me questions? I pinky-swear I will answer them all in the post-after-next. Not only that, but I am allowing totally anonymous comments on this, so if you want to ask me something weird, fatuous, vulgar, embarrassing, or deeply inappropriate (I am the woman who talks about menstrual blood-clots. I dread to think what you could ask that’d be inappropriate), you can do so without fretting that I might email you back to ask ‘what in fuck were you thinking?’
Why the post-after-next? Because I am half-way through writing a post about boring things like anaemia, my GP, the cutest phlebotomist this side of the Thames, and What I Did On My Holidays, and I should like to press ‘publish’ sometime before everything I’ve written is rendered utterly irrelevant by the swift onward rush of time’s whirligigs. And most especially because the post after next will be my
And what better way to mark such an eminent occasion than to celebrate the very people whose kind interest has encouraged me to post 666 times in the first place? I.e., you lot.
There. Are you game? I’m game.
[Caveat – I am not telling you my real name, H’s real name, or anyone else’s real name, and I do not promise to take all questions equally seriously. So there].