Honourably swamped

It seems that I have won a prize for my blog­ging. A blog­ging prize, no less. No, not that one — since, in case you hadn’t noticed, although I may have behaved like quite the dirty little tart before the event, I have not said a word about it since. So it’s not the award that dare not speak its name, but rather a Swampy for being best blog in the entire known uni­verse dur­ing the month of Janu­ary. Of course, being of a con­trary and some­times down­right awk­ward dis­pos­i­tion, I would argue that there wasn’t a lot to do in Janu­ary apart from stay indoors and read blogs. And I had one hell of a lot of ver­biage that I needed to get out of my sys­tem dur­ing those thirty-one days, too. So maybe it’s under­stand­able. Maybe.

The Swampys are bestowed upon deserving blog­gers — and on this occa­sion, appar­ently upon me — by Timbo of Tim­bob­log fame. In his speech to the Academy — er, I mean, his post — he waxes lyr­ical about An Unre­li­able Wit­ness with the same over­abund­ance of words that I would reck­lessly let go to waste writ­ing an entry on graf­fiti or fire escapes or my bed­room wall, to quote but three point­less examples. So he is to be con­grat­u­lated on that achieve­ment, as well as for hav­ing made me blush to an almost wor­ry­ing depth of red­ness whilst I read his eulogy. (Not that I’m dead, you under­stand, merely tem­por­ar­ily stunned). I’m not going to quote any of his very kind words here, because I’m far too embar­rassed. Go and look for yourself.

I would like to thank Timbo, all of you who con­tinue to bother with this humble excuse for three blogs, and God. In that order. Leav­ing the Almighty until last means that I’m bound to, er, almigh­tily piss Him off, and I will prob­ably end up get­ting struck down by a venge­ful bolt of light­ning before the day is done. I con­sider that a risk worth taking.

Related but unre­lated link: this is what my style guru (as if I have one of those) has sug­ges­ted I wear once the sea­son­ally adjus­ted tem­per­at­ures become a little more clem­ent. And yes, of course I’m speak­ing with my mouth crammed full of a large por­tion of irony. It’s just a shame that, per­haps sig­ni­fic­antly, the mens’ sizes are cur­rently almost all sold out.