Estimates vary, but it is generally accepted that between one fifth and one twelfth of the entire internet is taken up with blogs that I've set up and then abandoned: usually because I can't remember where they were. But... Hmm. I think I like it here. (By which I mean I like the default font. I expect there are innumerable other features and benefits which will be wasted on a doofus like me.) So I think I'll really try and focus this time.
This may also be something of an admission that the web site which I've been trying to develop for the last two years (paying eight quid a month or something for the continuing windblown nullity of www.chrisgoode.net - really, honestly, don't click that) is never going to be finished. Never. You hear me? YOU HEAR ME, NEW YORK? THE FROG IS STAYING. So let me here and now toss aside all hope of using the web as some kind of promotional medium for my professional work, and develop instead an online journal through which my subrational prejudices, my superstitions and my half-formed responses to the world about me can be safely vented. Ah, never mind the oxygen of publicity; the ammonia of futility is already overwhelming me. (Taxi for Mr Keats, etc.)
So please, sit tight, stay tuned, and hit refresh once every six seconds until the carpal tunnel syndrome starts to spread to your liver. Either I'll be back soon with a series of tantalising glimpses into the showbiz tornado of my day-to-day life: or I'll forget where I left this, and wander off again, quite probably in search of inappropriate composite pictures of Vincent Kartheiser.
Actually, no, look, just in case I don't come back: I love you. For real. Yes, you.