Can’t be doing with an empty blog list on SimonG.org, it’s just not right. Like letting the Ravens leave the Tower of London. Bad boda.
So, here’s a load of nonsense just to fill the gap.

Rah.

‹Feels whole again›

That incorrigible bunch of rogues are alive and well and finding gainful employment these days as solicitors, judging by the number of questions I’ve just been asked over the phone whilst trying to chop parsnips and fry sossidges.
After the call ended, I burnt my thumb really badly on some hot fat. Maybe that was a sign of displeasure from Him Upstairs for fraternising with the enemy. I think it might fall off or something, it hurts so much. Good job I have a nice cold glass of beer to hold my thumb against. Also a good job Men don’t give birth; you’d never hear the end of it. Cor, you should see how swollen it is! I’d take a picture but I’m having enough trouble typing as it is.

*smack!*

Yes, thank you dear. I’ll stop moaning now.

So it may still be only a couple of weeks or so until something totally insignificant and not-at-all noteworthy happens. Quick, all of you, whistle nonchalantly, look at the shiny thing over there* and cross your fingers. Or, as in both Poland and South Africa, hold your thumbs. I am.

‹Fetches more delicious, soothing, and above all cooling beer›

*No, over there.

Compare and contrast.

First, we have two cats chattering away in their own heathen lingo:

Now comes the science part: using the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter, we are able to understand what these cats are saying:

‹still chuckling›