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.