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I’m no stranger to blogging, me.

I blogged long before being aware of the term, perhaps before it existed. Then again, I also claim to have invented air guitar (1971) and captioned greetings cards (1987); supply your own salt.

Twenty-four blogs from Spainland, 45 blogs from That London, 100 unread secret blogs from the heart, and seven blogs from travels in the English Midlands. Old chums in Blighty followed my flamenco follies, Louisiana ladies loved my saga of shelves and solitude, and a handful of hardy souls followed my coffee crawl round Birmingham.

And it’s time to begin again. Not for your sake, dear reader (on the off chance there is a reader), but for my own.

Let me explain. I began the minnellium, footloose and fancy-, friend- and fortune-free, living by the Atlantic in Cádiz, Andalusia. As my new career of beach-bum left my evenings free, prompted by some residual need for a sense of purpose, I invested in an ordenador and a book on website building.

So, between sunset and the late night tapeo, various arcane and now archaic techniques of HTML were practised, IT training disguised as a masturbatory dump of pictures, poetry and prose.

But the acme of these efforts was a journal of sorts, starting out as a series of e-mails, but morphing into a sub-site of illustrated articles, sharing (not to mention exaggerating, not to deny making up) tales of my experiences in the lower left corner of Europe. They can still be read (as can the more recent Shelf Life, 45 assorted pieces from the myspace era) via the Lucidity Ltd website, and you’d be doing yourself a favour to look ’em both up, honest.

And I discovered that the discipline of having to meet a deadline of a thousand words, mas o menos, by midnight every Friday was kinda good for me. Yes, some weeks the god of procrastination meant I was typing away when I could have been drinking in a shady taverna, overrunning the cut-off point for one unproductive reason or another; but on many more occasions, I had jotted notes or even the whole text in a notebook, on the beach or in the library by the docks — and, having somehow fallen into ‘the zone’, produced pages of material for novel or poetry collections, along with sketches and monumental sculptures. Sadly, it is necessary to trick myself into this motivated state even moreso these days, when I’m no longer supporting my sub-sybaritic lifestyle by renting out an apartment in That London. These savings won’t last that much longer, before Mr Duncan-Smith puts me in one of his shiny, new, privately built workhouses.

Chica in Cádiz, 2000

Chica in Cádiz, 2000

So I hereby declare that I shall attempt to put a blog up on a weekly basis, come rain, shine or apocalypse. My subjects will be varied and my aim in equal parts to amuse and thoroughly to depress, without splitting any infinitives or making much sense.

A decade or so ago, my blogs were about shelves, an obscure and invented religious sect, life, art and nihilism. Things may not be so different now, but I just read through them to make sure that if I repeat myself, I do so knowingly. Maybe if I run out of ideas I can just recycle old ones.

WordPress offers the chance to subdivide entries by category, so there will be categories. Why not? What those will be, we can but speculate. For now and needing snappier titles, we have such possibilities as: a guide to Zen Nihilism, reviews of entertainments and eateries that only exist in my fevered imagination, arts and sciences, life in general, the Oxford comma, and my life in particular as an abject failure.

So let’s get this prattling started. Sign up, subscribe, go away, come back next week and go away again. All are welcome, all ashore that’s going ashore, hasta proxima, muchachos.

Dai

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