Ah well, I get some satisfaction that at least on one occasion I chose This Morning as the subject of a post, despite its being so unfashionable at the time. Recent events are bringing inquisitive John Leslie(ites) in their droves to this site. Small mercies and gratefulness spring quickly to mind.

Can blogging still be found in my bones? Does it still fizz in my blood? Can I pick up the threads and earn back the readers who have (quite understandably) wiped me from their "roles of honour?" I don't know.

I'm dipping my oh so tentative toe back into it. Why? I don't know. At least I can write rubbish, write cold. Only Google searchers will stumble upon this entry, this test, this, attempt to see if I still want to do it. To see If I can still feel the same satisfying surge of fulfillment.

Liberating in a way. The freedom to write without readers. Yet at the same time write with the necessary tighter focus, the required greater care; as if there were. As if there might be. The opportunity to lurch clumsily towards a style before being found or refound.