6/8

Not with a bang but with a whimper...It makes me infinitely sad that the blog demise is watched by no one... To quote or mis quote one of my favourite films 'We all die alone'. And so it must be, we can never really drag the living to our death scenes.

5/8

Ahh, reminiscing over the sweet soulfulness of summer. Tall grass, sunburn and insect watching. Scorched toes and callouses from bare feet walking, parched grass and grazed knees, mud and sand caking your legs. The days never ending, early rising and late sleeping. Meanwhile mum and dad are chuntering and bickering; money not enough, bills unpaid, weather too hot, too rainy, too cold. Too tired, too past it, too bored, too old.

This year I am a little smug as my adult/child comparisons are directed else where, because this summer I have felt just a little bit more like a child. I have made every effort, despite the pointless adult worrying and pondering; to play in dirt, insect watch and celebrate every time the sun has parted from the perpetual cloud. I have been more than a tiny bit silly, and have had headaches and bruises to prove it.

The summer is drawing to an end and if you were to ask me what I have done, I don't think I could tell you. I haven't got many pictures and mostly it was just me and the kids. That pre-summer list came to nothing, but I am sitting here with a little sense of well being as I pick the dirt between my toes.

4/8

This is the scene where the anti hero grasps the blog by its neck in the first stages of strangulation. The blog still has a little strength left as it flaps its arms wildly, eyes popping and veins bulging as its bulk is lifted off the floor. The scene is relentless and the audience is audibly uncomfortable; it should of ended hours ago but alas we are only half way through.

I was asked today if I was still blogging to which I answered 'Yes, but not for long'. There are many reasons for rapping this thing up. It is time to move on.

At one point in my life I moved on at regular intervals, for some cosmic reason I have found myself for the last 10 years in the same place, with the same people, in the same job. My sentimental side longs for a wistful rummage over a box of discarded memorabilia and I would like to add the streets of Leeds to the archive maps of my dreams; practically this is not going to happen any time soon. So the death of my blog is a substitute, a faux beginning and a contrived end. At times when I feel a little blue I will look through and weep, fat, lonely tears, a little regret that it never entered my head to write anonomously or to pay attention in those grammar classes.