Sulking, And The Law Of Its Diminishing Returns.

Thank you to everyone who has emailed me to ask where the hell my blog has got to, and whether it's been subject to a Blogger-related implosion.

It hasn't. For once, the fault is all mine - or, rather, it's my birthday's fault; coupled with the realisation that I have achieved precisely nothing of any value to the human race whatsoever, over the whole of the last year, and despite my (second) best efforts.

Greg says that I am having an existential crisis, but Max says that I have just been sulking about getting old. Both of them may be right - but, anyway, there's only so much navel gazing that a person can do, before the whole thing becomes tediously boring for all concerned.

So, my belated birthday resolution is to pull myself together, think positive, and get a grip. (As well as over-using a host of cliches in the process - anyone would think I'd taken a self-help book out of the library at lunchtime today.)

I probably need to allow a few days to practise my affirmations before they start to work, so I shall be back next week, uncharacteristically dynamic and full of optimism for the coming year - which is when I shall achieve something really noteworthy. I just haven't quite worked out what.