Urrk II: Curse of the Speaking Blob

As you'll know by now, this blog is like a field of brambles: every once in a while it produces something sweet and purplish, but you have to wait a lot to get it. If you're me, you tend to slip and fall into acre upon acre of agonising thorns, which, if you've ever kept a blog, you'll know isn't stretching the analogy very far.

Life at the moment isn't great: someone seems to have installed a Doom-o-matic over my left shoulder, and it's been on full pelt these last few weeks, dumping steaming piles of awfulness as it goes. Much of the stuff I can't talk about, because to do so would cause any hope I have left of PB remaining angst free shattering, and because I don't want to right now. Suffice to say that there are still lots of good things happening to me, although I often don't notice them until five hours later, like that joke someone told me I took six years to get.

Soon, every post won't be a "here come some posts!" post, I promise. Not now, though. I'm tired now. If I've got more traffic now I'm on ScottishBlogs, hey! Nice to see you. It's exciting here when there's less February around.

Emergency Edit: I just looked at ScottishBlogs, and it appears I've spelt the word "basically" wrong on my blogvertisment. 'S the Doom-o-matic. Nightmares in its path.