Well, hello there. Sorry, I've been a bit slack for the last six months or so, but I had a tumble from (one of) my bike(s) and felt disinclined to jot whilst recuperating. Still, I've mostly cupered now, a little impressive scar tissue notwithstanding, so here goes nuttin'. Again.
Without wishing to sound like a broken gramophone record, I'm still in the midst of the middle-aged ennui doldrums. Still in the same lacklustre job and still in the same house. The house is part of the problem actually. It's lovely and in a lovely street in a lovely area. It's perfect for our needs, comfy and well-appointed. So, we won't be moving again - well, not for a while anyways. And this has thrown my life, or rather what's left of it, into sharp relief. I can't continue to plough on like this until they cart me off in the back of a private ambulance and start liquidising my meals. I need adventure - spiritual, sexual, intellectual and actual.
But where to find it? For years I thought the classified ads in Private Eye might provide the answer, but never had the nerve to answer any. I assumed, probably rightly actually, that you had to have been to Oxford and come down without a degree to do so without looking like an upstart.
