A blog post written by me

I ate nothing all day and then I had a whole fish pie in under 90 seconds and now I feel sick. The reason I consider this worth sharing is that my Facebook feed is finally fixed – (I think) – about seven months after I somehow broke it. If my calculations are correct this will actually show up on my bullshit Facebook “promote me” page. I thought it would be useful to remind prospective readers here of the depth of banality we’re dealing with on a day to day basis.

To all those people who ask me why I stopped blogging: I didn’t. I do like people to come here and hopefully leave with something even if it’s just a smile. But I suffer from being uncomfortable about promoting myself, so the very fact I write this at is therapeutically helpful in terms of putting myself out there – it’s turning into a very powerful personal discipline in general, the writing and sharing process. So fixing the nuts and bolts of Facebook was a long way down the list over just getting something written that’s acceptable. I’m my own editor. My editor is a fussy bastard – I wish he’d kept on drinking as back then I could write any old shit and he’d let it past.

Recently my editor has started thinking about trying to promote my scribblings a bit. Hopefully he’ll get round to something before long.

Let’s do statistics! Everybody loves statistics.


One thousand four hundred and twenty consecutive days I’ve hurled my moments in your faces. A little under 900,000 words. Good God. Not far from a million. You poor poor people.

It’s extremely helpful with my tax return, knowing roughly what I was doing every day for nearly four years. There’s an unexpected benefit.

And never fear, oh returning reader. My life appears to work a bit like The Archers. You can drop in after months and pick up the thread easily.

What’s new?

There’s a person who appears to like cuddling me. That’s new since May. I’ll likely be evasive about details on purpose. She’s off on Vipassana for two weeks anyway very soon. You’ll start to think I’ve made her up.

I’m off the booze, but that’s always been up and down like a yoyo. It’s comparatively solid this time though. It’ll be like this for a while.

It’s December and I’m not playing Scrooge, but that’s because of a global pandemic and it’s only to be expected.

The rest is pretty consistent with what was going on in May when the feed broke after an ill advised boozy rant.

I’m still wondering about where the next dollar might manifest so rants like that aren’t helpful.

I’m still surrounded by a vast collection of unusual items from all sorts of different places and eras too.

I still occasionally geek out into astrology or games or sport or literature. Rants still take place – as how could they not? Baths still feature heavily. I’m just as useless at remembering to take a photograph as I always have been. I have a bedroom full of owls.

And I still feel sick from my fish pie. So I’m going to have a bath.

There we go. That’s a blog, from beginning to end, right there, above these words. I didn’t tell you anything about the people from Rosebery’s auction house who came over to look at stuff here and in storage. All sorts of things happened today and none of it made the blog. Selective with the truth, that Al Barclay. Can he be trusted? Maybe he’s the true cause of Covid? I always knew he was a wrong’un.

Happy lockdown end, UK bunnies. I expect you’re all running around licking each other right now. I’m going to scrub.

And so, to bath.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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