The Boys Are Back In Town

Except that rather than the boys, it’s me. Far be it for me to decline a Thin Lizzy reference. 

So, massive apologies for my pseudo-disppearance. I’ve been a special brand of sick and cold that meant I pretty much dragged myself to work, then back to bed with lots of tea because I seem to be a strangely sickly person of late. “Late” being the majority of my life, of course.

What’s new, you ask? (except no person ever genuinely asks that, it’s a cop-out rhetorical question segue. So sue me.)

Well, surprisingly little. Life is a tad monotonous if full of germs for the past while, sorry to say. There are few if any tales with which to regale the blogosphere(is that a thing? Am I just pretentiously making up words? Perhaps). 

On the bright side, there has been plenty to make me semi-happy, in spite of the sadness that seems to swirl endlessly around us all. Case in point, Jason Collin’s jersey being the number-one seller in the NBA. How’s that for a cheerful bit of news? I won’t try to deceive anyone by claiming to be knowledgeable, or even fond of, basketball, but I have massive respect for Jason Collins. Part of me wants to buy his jersey just for that (which I suspect some people have in fact done). I admit I am a soccer person if anything, not that watching matches has provided much consolation this season. On the bright side, Rooney has signed with Man United again, which means two things– 1. we’re not completely drowning (just, you know, slightly) and 2. I can continue to feel a tinge a guilt every time I laugh at a joke at his expense. Let’s face it, he is just so ripe for mockery, and I say this despite my adamant support for Manchester United and my appreciation of his talent.  

But then I watch something like this, and even I cannot contain myself.

On that note, I bid you farewell for the weekend. 


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