310: not the blog post you are looking for

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Laziest daily-blogger ever.  I’m four days behind and showing no sign of catching up; oh how lost you must feel, desperately waiting for news of my mundane life and my offensive opinions on things you have no interest in.  Your Networked Blogs’ repost on Facebook, or your jolly auto-post alert on twitter, has been eerily quiet and you have sat their staring at the screen feeling sorry for yourself.  Oh, when will Kevin post his blog, when, when, when?  That’s how the world works, at least as far as I am aware.

Consider this a sort of place-holder post to remind my tiny-minded, tiny public that I am still plodding along, one step at a time in my attempt to blog every day for the rest of my life.  Clearly I have relaxed the rules a little since the inception.  Initially I literally wrote the blog every day; but now that’s not really possible.  I’m getting busier with various life, love and creativity things, and the blog itself has evolved from a personal thing about things, somethings and nothings into a sort of semi-professional arts and culture blog.  I feel I now have standards to uphold.  If I am too tired one day to write a decent post, why not write two decent posts the next day.  Now the self-imposed rule is that I must write one post for every day.  Helps me maintain my delusion of quality, feels like an ok excuse for tardiness, and lets me go to bed without dragging the laptop behind me every night.

Stay tuned tomorrow (?) for the report and photos from Sunday at Eurocultured.  I know you’re aching to hear my thoughts about the people spraying paint onto stretched sheets of fabric, and the other people doing that silly wiggle-dance where they roll around on the floor in baseball caps trying to look cool.  If you really can’t wait (learn some fucking self-control) then here is a nice little flickr slideshow of all me picky-wicks, or you can go to me flickr page ‘ere.

OK, I hope that’s y’all satiated.  Aside:  if you are feeling hungry don’t get those little roast chicken fridge snacks; they are shite.  If anyone tells you you can do better, believe them; it’s usually true.  Especially if attempting to relieve hunger with a couple of quid and a TescoMetron.  Erm... I’m not really writing this anymore.  I’m listening to music and someone else is typing.  The little bean-sized men that live in my fingertips and enjoy scratching my nose and picking my arse strike that reverse it.  OK, and indeed OK again:  time for bed.

This is not the blog post you are looking for.