I don't have a big conclusion tonight and I doubt I'll have one tomorrow or indeed on day 40 which is the day after my birthday since I am a fucking idiot. I have enjoyed doing this a great deal, though, even though I did not actually have any big or particularly interesting thoughts about anything. My main conclusion is that I am delighted to hear about people's ponies and twin babies, bad accountants, fictional capybara theme parks and the intolerable domestic habits of their loved ones. This is what I always loved - and still love - about blogging. I will not just vanish for months on end again if I can possibly help it, because I miss you, and it. But the reason I blog less is because I am not bored out of my skull doing law all day every day and desperate for distraction and that in and of itself is surely a huge improvement over the last six years? Progress! Slow, halting progress, frequently obstructed by my own stupidity, but progress nonetheless.
Kath asked what was on my wish list. As you all know I am an ascetic and a holy hermit and have no material desires and my gaze is turned solely towards spiritual fulfilment and self-sacrifice BUT, if I were obliged to conjure up a few trifles:
One of these cashmere blankets
Replacement for broken Rob Ryan mug (not the American football player)
Pretty much anything my friend Nathalie makes.
A box of Sadaharu Aoki petits fours.
A piece of alarming taxidermy.
I am not even asking for a horse this year. I think that's maturity, right there. Even though this woman has her own SLOTH and she is only 29 and she also has a kangaroo and several sugar gliders. I am so reasonable.
If your Tuesday is trying and several of my friends have had a very trying Tuesday indeed, this, about Phnom Penh's last working elephant retiring, is really lovely. I presume, because you are all internet types, you have all already seen Arthur the Endurance Race dog, and tears have leaked from your eyes as they leaked from mine.
I am going to stop now so I have time to wash my "hair" before I turn 40, because standards. Maybe I will even remember to cut this one enormous gnarled Father Jack style fingerclaw that escaped my recent pruning attempts too. Tell me about your birthdays. Do you like or hate them? Get over-excited and then slump, or pre-emptively dread and quite enjoy? Can you remember your worst (thirty was pretty much a fucker for me)?