I don’t know what to say.

I’ve let myself down, I’ve let you down. Every stroke of my fingers on this keyboard feels like a huge prick.

Of guilt. A huge prick of guilt in my conscience.

It’s like an awkward exchange between long lost lovers who, after decades apart, have encountered each other once more and do not know where to begin. Where there was once unbridled creativity and reckless abandon there is now only embarrassed coughing, with pregnant pauses and apologetic silences broken only by the faint gurgling and bubbling of the utterly incontinent.

I know now that writing a blog is a marathon, and not a sprint.

In fact, everything seems to be a bloody marathon. I have yet to be advised by anyone that something is a sprint, and not a marathon. Surely there must be occasions where it is appropriate to say this? Perhaps when one is pulling survivors from a burning orphanage, having one’s broken pelvis reset without anaesthetic, or training a sprinter, one could mention that it’s a sprint, not a marathon, and the person you’re addressing would feel suitably spurred.

The upshot of all this is that I find myself at the beginning of 2009 with a determination to carry on what I started, and not be lazy. I have no one but myself (and xbox live) to blame for my absence, but be sure that 2009 will be full of well-meaning hilarity (like this).

God bless you all.

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