Hit And Miss.

I've lost the will to blog. I'm no longer a Granny Wrangler, I'm a freaking PaperCut Wrangler... Which holds a certain appeal, as far as a name goes although I'd be a little hard-pressed as to how I'd typeset the word PaperCut and what on earth would I do with the knickers? A pair of the disposable paper ones they give you when you go for a Brazillian maybe? I digress.

The point is, at the end of every day I trudge home. I'm f*cking tired, even more f*cking grumpy and more often than not devoid of any form of humour. And I *like* making people laugh, be it with me or at me, although the former is generally the more preferred of the two.

I miss Benson & Hedges, I miss Muppet's constant bloody indecision, I miss my little silver 1 Series. I miss running through the wheatfields, I miss chatting endlessly on google chat with my friends who are really trying to get through an honest day's work and could do without the smutty innuendos i throw about mid-spreadsheet. I miss the Farming magazines which I was convinced were copies of Hardcore Hussies & Their Favourite Kitchen Utensils. I miss being made to turn left and go through the village to find a safe turn around point because Muppet thought it was too dangerous to turn right out of the driveway. And I miss the cat crap. Every single little perfectly formed poo plopped on the bathroom mat. I miss it all so much it hurts.

Do you really want to listen to me bitch and moan and churn out reams of profanity, as unclassy as it may be? Do you really care to read my vicious self-deprecating diatribes? Do you give a flying continental f*ck whether or not I was lascerated by the entire population of the 90gsm block of Xerox paper in the stationary cupboard? If I howl and sulk like a spoilt child because I don't get my way in everything I do will you even bother coming back... ever? And most of all, if i neglect my writing from time to time will you forget about me?