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Back to basics...

... and more navel-gazing as promised. My “mood” hasn’t picked up noticeably, so I’m making a deliberate effort to avoid the tricks and tropes I’d usually employ to make it all dark and perplexing. Clear skies with a sunny outlook – 70% chance of crap.
Plus I’ve had a crack at a book-review type blog (partially thanks to Cari’s Books for the proof that it can be done, although personally I was put off by her impassioned defence of the young adult genre) and so far have a title, URL and a background template. For those of you who enjoy looking at all things unfinished, you could check the work in progress at Metaliterate Musings. Wowed, you may not be. However, I don’t feel at all upset at sending link-love to myself, so I’ll do it again: Metaliterate Musings. With any luck and no small amount of application, it should eventually be the book-related opinion piece that my brain believes it could be. Once the first post is proofed I’ll let you know, and you can go be offended by some more rabid prejudicial hyperbole.
In the meantime, blog-shaping will continue apace here, and as I gaze out on Bute Park during my lunch break through my office windows, I have let go of the fear that vacillating moods will negatively affect the content and style of submissions / emissions, partially I suspect thanks to the sunlight streaming in through the windows and the cute grey squirrels rough-housing in the hedgerow. Maybe I should go back to Baby Led Weaning or Bash the Rich and stop dropping cous cous all over my keyboard...

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Rage, rage against the piling up of shite.

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Stay angry, people.

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Back to you, sir.

It’s all a little bit exciting, if you’re me, which I am, to have revived something so Hanoverian as a literary feud! Such a back and forth brings to mind the savaging of John Rae by Charles Dickens post Franklin expedition (including the publication of Rae’s rejoinder in Household Words ), or the attacks by William Hazlitt on, well everyone. I only wish I had the intellectual vigour of a Hazlitt or indeed any of the great correspondents of the past, to be able to maintain a contiguous train of thought for longer than a lunch time, and to not to be interrupted and thus de-railed by something so mundane as a game of football. Still, to be galvanised at all in this age of short attention spans and antipathy to anything other than apathy is a miracle, and it is to football that, my wife’s scorn notwithstanding, I can give credit on this occasion. Swipe I set myself up for a pretty meaty swipe in retaliation for my retaliation previously . I sort-of lost the plot a little bit in places,
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