Welcome, My Friends, To The Show That… oh, never mind, I’m back

So… why am I doing this again, this blog thing?

Good question.

1. My days are no longer filled with having to take care of my ailing wife.  It was a long and painful period (painful also for me, because cancer is a bastard not just for the sufferer, but because of what it brings to the sufferer’s nearest).  Now that it’s over, I need to get on with what’s left of my own life, only without the companion I thought I’d have.  Likewise, the kids have all left the house and are getting on with their lives without me — and that’s just fine.  Their mother and I tried our very best to give them the foundations which would turn them into responsible, intelligent and worthwhile members of society.  Now they can build on that, or not; the decisions are no longer mine. While they will always be a part of my life, they will no longer be a part of my writing, and will have no part in this blog.

2. For all sorts of reasons, I’m unemployable.  It’s not just my age, although just about everyone over age sixty will agree with me when I say that few employers seem willing to hire experience because it’s apparently too expensive or something.  I’m also unemployable because I refuse to accede to or kowtow to the modern corporate ethos and restrictions, whether regulatory or societal.  I’ve always had a short fuse when faced with bullshit; and political correctness, which seems to have infected the corporate world to a terminal degree, is the very epitome of bullshit.  There is a certain amount of compromise involved in doing any activity for remuneration, but frankly, I find unacceptable the degree of compromise required of today’s corporate employee.  So, as the saying goes, screw ’em.

So all that said, I’m left with hours of inactivity. I can and do write novels, but at the moment, I’m no longer driven to the same degree as I once was because, honestly, I’m wrung out, exhausted and grief-stricken.

I am also less driven to comment on current affairs as I once was.  Oh sure, the antics of politicians may occasionally irritate me; but instead of reaching for the .45 and shooting the TV or writing some febrile screed against Commissar Fucqueface or Senator Cocquesucquer, I’m more inclined to smile sardonically and let the (unexpected!) consequences of their stupidity unravel and bite them or their supporters in the ass.  I sit alone, and simply let them get on with it.

Likewise, I see what’s happening with modern-day feminists, social-justice warriors and liberal academics (some overlap), and the damage their cocked-up philosophies are doing to society;  and because my own circumstances are pretty much beyond their reach, I just chuckle and let their consequences unfold all over themselves.

I don’t even care if people decide to shoot the silly 9mm Europellet from plastic Europistols or the poodleshooter .223/5.56mm chamberings from Mattel rifles.

In other words: I live my life in splendid isolation.

Thus, when I do write a comment about the latest idiocy the above fools have foisted upon us, don’t expect anger or vitriol.  Instead, expect a trenchant and dismissive dissertation on their foolishness.  (The language may be explicit, but that’s all part of my detachment; I no longer worry about the effect of my words:  I simply utter them, and people may accept them, or not, and agree with them, or not.  Either way, I am indifferent.)

I may also write about topics such as music, movies and other cultural artifacts, much as I used to do over weekends back in the day.  But in that vein, there will be no fixed features such as Sunday Skin or Gratuitous Gun Pics, because I’m not going to tie myself to any kind of routine.

This new website may also feature commentary on strange sex stuff, such as the fact that 14 per cent of British women in a relationship can’t face sleeping with their partner unless they’ve had a couple of glasses of wine beforehand. It may get even raunchier, so if you’re prudish, you may want to skip posts under the category named Men and Women.

And The Mrs. will no longer be there to tell me: “You can’t write that!”

So: here we go.  Buckle yourselves in, folks;  it’s going to be an interesting ride for this, the final chapter of my life.