John Walker's Electronic House

by on Jul.11, 2004, under The Rest

There is no human logic to the readership of this blog.

During my flurry of posts last month, daily figures dropped to the low teens. Since I haven’t been updating, they’ve gone back up to the high 20s. I must be the only person in the world who attracts readers by not writing. I am taking it personally.

Plans for finding treasure are now definitely in August, since the site I wanted to stay at has failed to get back to me, making booking a little difficult. This should work out ok, as The Doctor has some spare time then too.

Paris tomorrow, London today. OH MY GOODNESS – my passport. I absolutely would have left without it. Phew. Saying that, do you even need a passport any more? I’d like to think an integrated Europe wouldn’t need one, but that seems enormously unlikely.

Oh bleaurgh, and as this further becomes a series of unfolding happenings as I write, I have just taken a swallow of coffee, and consumed a lump of… something. Oh, how repulsive a lump of… something truly is. There should be nothing of solidity in the coffee, and nor in the mug I just washed. Which means it is an alien lump that entered afterwards. Which suggests strongly that whatever it was, it was alive. No longer, as the cruel bath of my stomach acids will have put quick pay to such immodest claims of an extant nature. But it is in the not knowing that revulsion is found. If I knew it had been a fly, I’d think, “ah well, I’ve swallowed a fly”, and then not be able to resist adding, “perhaps I’ll die.” But instead, in the lack of knowledge, it becomes the most grotesque thing impossible, no matter how illogical: someone else’s bogey, a human tooth, some celery, and so on.

Still, I finished the coffee. It is coffee, after all.

5 Comments for this entry

  • Jonty

    On the plus side, posts of this nature should reverse your previous trend :P

  • Tim R

    There are two conclusions you might draw. The first is that we are all wierd. The second is that there is a delayed feedback system going on. Since none of us knows exactly when you will post again we check your blog according to how frequently we perceive you to have posted recently, and how interesting the blog has been recently – do we remember when we are at the machine to check your blog, or other sites that interest us? Thus, you perform a flurry of posts, and we react, weeks later, thinking this is now your new trend. Then you slow down, and we keep checking the site, anxious not to miss a thing. Eventually disaffection creeps in and we assume that you do not love us. We do not read your blog. Then one day we check, on an off chance, and discover that you have had a heated debate with John Lennon over the outdated, overrated and infestated nature of the Beatles, which has generated news headlines as far away as, say, Kent, and a million comments.

    Another possibility is that we read your blog more avidly during the period after a posting because the sarcastic comments that other people write can be almost as interesting.

    This could be a plot to force you to question your own sanity, rather than ours, since we are in the majority and are therefore right.

    Your blog could be being used and read by a secret organization who are leaving messages via the comments: [red fox to brown badger: the wombat has left the woods] this activity being entirely divorced from the frequency of your own posts.

    We might be mad.

    On the subject of the coffee – I always found that lumps, or even worse, hard bits in custard were my worst nightmare, and likely to promote vomiting reflexes immediately. Just thought you’d like to know. I’m not so bad with flies – as a cyclist I get used to them sticking to my teeth when I go down hill.

    That was more than two points. Are there any soft cushions to hand?

  • MARK

    It must be just to plain tease you.

  • always_black

    It was probably a toe. Someone had a terrible foot-related accident and itwas propelled through an open window, landing in the coffee by freakish chance.