Trains of thought. They are a little like buses. One has several running at the same time, and then there’ll be a big gap before the next one happens along.
I was doing something critically important yesterday (falling asleep during the tiresomely dull Kill Bill V1) when I suddenly realised that I was on the cusp of an important historical event.
Yes, it’s the annual Blogathon.
This stupendous event (created, developed, nurtured, carried forward and loved by Young Masher) has achieved so many things since its inception in 1863.
An end to world poverty, conquering child sickness, solving global famine…
The annual Blogathon has, regrettably, missed all of these targets.
However it has been a regular February event that has made me smile, chuckle, cry*, and generally informed and inspired me.
So, last night, I got out my swiftest, trustiest carrier pigeon (Lucky III) and dropped Young Masher a line enquiring as to the topics he was going to share with us during this season of Blogathon.
Lucky returned this morning and, with shaking hands, I read Young Masher’s calming words as he reassured me that he had a vast range of subjects lined up, over which to vex forth.
This year, as usual, I shall attempt to keep Young Masher company (as will another, equally worthy participant, Mr Blogging Up The Works), as Masher makes another noble effort to overcome All The World’s Ills through his Wise and Witty Words (also known as the WWW).
*maybe not actually cry
I’m disappointed that you didn’t actually cry. I did – several times – but then I have to write the damn stuff, so it’s understandable.
This year’s Blogathon is aimed at reconciling Israel and Palestine, and I’m confident that by the end of the month they will be able to shake hands and laugh at themselves for being so silly.
Thanks for joining me again. It’ll be… er, fun.
Fun fun fun till her daddy takes the t-bird away. Erm.
There’s nothing that can’t be cured by Blogathon and between the three of us a time of peace and prosperity hangs tantalisingly close just days away ready to be picked by our erudition.
Unless it falls off the tree and rots slowly on the ground.
Windfall. That’s how I found my brain. I think.