A Clean Break

If, for whatever reason you follow my blog - you'll have noticed that there has been a considerable gap between this and my last post.

I accidentally created this gap. Like when you accidentally snag your favourite jeans and you go along with it, nobody will notice. The World Cup happened and it was my cottony scar on the thigh of my denims. Why waste time juggling two passions, football and writing - when one of them is so colourful, has an opening ceremony and is televised across the globe (well except in North Korea) and the other well - is literally black and white?

So yeah, instead of blogging, reading, creative writing or even looking for a better job - I succumbed to the green fields of South Africa. I postponed anything that required any real effort until England inevitably went out of the competition. That week, when it seemed like the England team had also postponed anything that required effort until they were knocked out the competition - my mum and dad went on holiday. This provided time alone and a good opportunity to stitch up the pull on my jeans and get back into writing, job hunting etc. Before I'd even thread the needle, the initial tear was stretched to a gaping hole and it wasn't even a fashionable rip, it was ugly:

My brother's girlfiend of six years+ walked out on him. It's my duty, I think, as a brother, to substitute her for a short period while he reassembles his emotions (Note, I do not substitute her sexually, I'm merely a substitute for companionship). So that's what I did and that week, until my parents returned, I still didn't blog or do anything much, other than offer my ears and a nodding head, to my heartbroken sibling.

Mum and Dad come home! - time to patch up those jeans! Not quite. I won't go into details but Dad got shingles, brother's front door broke, my bedroom ceiling caved in from flooding and my cat got raped (by another cat, not a human). This week though, it's been a little bit quieter - maybe that's because my brother's gone away camping.

Right now I'm wearing pyjama bottoms and a pair of my girlfriend's socks, I don't think a rip would make me look any more stupid - so I might as well keep writing, regardless of what happens from now on.