I kept a blog for years and years and years. Just so we're clear, none of you will ever see a damn word, because they're all about how you suck and I'm pretty confident your self-esteem can't deal with the heavy barrage of childish insults I was prepared to level at each and every one of you in the safety of an anonymous internet arena. That, and I wrote quite a lot of poetry about dolphins and how I think they're cute.
Fine. It's just the dolphins. The poems don't even rhyme.
In any case, my point here was that this is the first time that anyone I know has been reading my online bullshit. So bear with me here.
For example, tonight I met Wilda and Nat and Betty for rock climbing. I was excellent. Like Gollum, only you have to imagine that Gollum was played by Cary Grant. In any case, after the last effortless ascent up the hardest part of the wall, the gym staff gathered to applaud, massage and (it has to be said) worship me. I handled it, as I handle everything, with consummate ease and tact. Imagine Cary Grant, possibly as played by Keanu Reeves, and I think you might have the picture.
I felt sorry for the others, but c'est la vie, right? That's French. That's right; I speak French. It has a certain je ne sais quoi. (Also French. Just a tip, there)
Then we had dinner. Sadly, I was the only one who was able to to pronounce the name of my Italian dish correctly. To be fair, I spent nearly three weeks in la bella Italia. I know. I'm well travelled. You can probably tell just from the worldly way I'm typing this.
To cut a long story short, leaving out the bank robbery I foiled and the way I found a cure for cancer during the first course, I had a pretty good night.
I expect, as I'm calling this a blog and not a diary, I should link to something. This is almost certainly going to come true. I saw the Biggest Loser last week, and I'm sure cannibalism is the logical next step in reality TV.