On six years
Six years ago today, I signed up to Blogger and wrote a dreadful first post which didn't mention poo in the slightest.
In the following half a dozen years, I've picked up the odd award or two, written the best part of 250 Tales of Mirth and Woe, published a book, and confessed to crapping in my shed on one occasion.
On one occasion.
And what am I going to be remembered for? Go on. Guess.
Let this snippet of conversation with Cliff Thisisthis illustrate my point:
Cliff had noticed the picture of my shed in last Friday's tale of My Wall Collapse Hell, and enquired whether if it was the shed. In fact, it is.
Me: "Good Lord, man. I only ever pooed in a shed once. It's not as if I make a habit of it."
Cliff: "These things should not define us. Edmund Hillary climbed Everest one time. You'd think that's all he did."
Me: "And, on a similar vein, Lofty from EastEnders has done loads of other stuff in the 20 years after he stopped being Lofty from EastEnders. Such as the radio phone-in '6-0-6 with Lofty from EastEnders'"
My life has been, I am certain, so much more than one heaving bag of steaming do-do in my outhouse. I've been sick in hedges, too.
So. Six years in, and my epitaph will read: S. Duck. Shat in his shed.
Happy Blogday to me.
*cough* Amazon Wish List *cough*