Wil's cool. He likes the same music as me, for starters. And he has a sense of humour. And and he swept the board at this year's Weblog awards, with perhaps the best weblog you'll ever see. He uses the word "spiffy" with embarrassment. He's cool about being famous, and he's still OK about being teenage Wesley, despite being -- like me - in his thirties now. So I signed up for a blog. And it's his fault.
I'll be hosted at the most excellent and free blogger/ blog*spot for now, until I get some space of my own sorted. Until then, just live with the adverts, yeah? It'll only be for a month or so, until after I've moved away from the big city to go live on a beach in the south of England somewhere. It'll happen. It's sorted. There's a yacht club, even.
Expect humour. English humour. Sick, sick, sick English humour.Football or "soccer" if you're colonial, swearing, cussing and more swearing. I'm a regular on Popbitch if you want some kind of idea of the level I'm prepared to stoop, but I'm not going to say who I am on there. It's the rules.
One good thing is promised from this enterprise: no pictures of cats. Sorry to have to break that one to you, but my Molly's one ugly mog, and I wouldn't want to have this place closed down before we even start. However, here's a picture of my butt I took earlier...