The truth is

In 2008, I did 155 blog posts.

In 2009, weirdly, I also did 155 posts.

In 2010, I did 138.

In 2011, I've done 3.

That's quite the sudden decline. Luckily, I have a significant amount of 2011 in which to catch up.

The question is: what have I been up to?

The answer is: tearing shit up. Figuratively.

Or just hanging out or whatever. I've been reading some things, watching some things, dreading some things, eating some things, misspelling some tihngs.

The question is: a superhero created by Steve Ditko in the late sixties as a means to explore moral objectivism.

He has a blank face.

Or does he?

That's another question.

But I can't write this entire blog post in nothing but questions. Unless I end every sentence with a question mark, regardless of whether it is merited. And that would annoy me as much as it would you?

Over Christmas, I received a number of excellent gifts. I've read books on Bret 'Hitman' Hart, Classical Mythology, Quantum Electrodynamics, a philosophical graphic knowledge about an architect, and some Japanese poetry.

I've very cultured.

Also, I've watched some of the last season of Seinfeld, the Chris Morris film Four Lions, Serpico, Citizen Kane, The Peter Serafinowicz Show.

I should have reviewed all of these. But I am held back by doubts about my own insight. I assume I'm very perceptive and eloquent, but when I put my thoughts on paper (albeit the cyber equivalent) it just looks a bit rubbish.

It's like the songs I write. They sound good when I play them to myself, but when recorded they don't really work. The essence can't be captured, I suppose. Like a vampire.

So in place of a review, here's a funny bit from the funny Peter Serafinowicz. He is funny.



Funny.

Here is a page from the aforementioned graphic novel. It is called Asterios Polyp and is by David Mazzucchelli. Look - isn't it cool:

OK, I suppose you can't really tell anything from that. It is good though.

All in all: alAlll

That's a great joke.

I don't care what anyone says.

All in all.

I've literally put the word 'All' (capital intact) into the word 'all'. I've put it after the first 'l' of 'all'.

See?

alAlll?

See?

See why it's a funny joke?

...

It is funny.

All jokes are funnier when you explain them at length.

It you still don't think it's funny, you're probably not paying attention.

Maybe you're thinking of something else.



Earlier today, I was reminded that I won a colouring-in competition when I was a child.

Well, I wasn't reminded. I reminded myself.

I remembered - that's it.

I think there were prizes for each age group. I won the prize for my age group. Obviously. I wasn't eligible for any of the other prizes on account of my age.

It was Noddy.

It was a Noddy scene I had to colour in.

And I obviously did a pretty good job there that day, colouring in, in the Colouring Inn (Winchester).

It wasn't really at the Colouring Inn. There's no such place.

I just added it as an extra flourish. I'm renowned for such flourishes, particularly when using a coloured pencil, particularly when breathing life to a little gnome, a slightly bigger gnome, and their jolly car (which I imagine has poor fuel consumption).

Stupid Noddy.

I don't remember much about the competition. I think I won a tin pencil case or lunchbox. With Noddy on it.

The thing is: I remember, even at the time, thinking that I didn't deserve to win. I hadn't done that well at the colouring. I'd gone outside the lines. It was a sloppy job. I may have only been four, but even so, it wasn't great.

Even at that young age, I felt that my winning the prize with such poor work had devalued it. Obviously the judges hadn't put enough thought into it. They probably didn't take it seriously. They probably just picked my colouring-in at random, slapped a rosette on me and sent me on my way (with my tin pencil case or lunchbox).

If I had won the competition, it wasn't worth winning. As my acquaintance Sarah put it, it was a bit like that Groucho Marx line: "I don’t care to belong to any club that will have someone like me as a member".

But it wasn't that. I didn't think that at the time, and I don't think it now.

I'm too arrogant for such sentiment. In fact, I think just the opposite. It even informs my view of the afterlife. I genuinely think about Heaven in the opposite terms to Groucho. If God doesn't want me, he's obviously got all his priorities screwed up.

I don't care to belong to any club that won't have someone like me as a member.

So my bitterness at the Noddy colouring competition was justified. It wasn't because of me - it was because of the poor quality of the work; and thus the poor quality of the competition.

I don't have my tin lunchbox or pencil case anymore, and I don't miss it.

That's the only competition I've ever won.

(I believe this to be the case - though I may be blocking out subsequent triumphs. I've got lots of trophies in here, but I think that's because I'm cleaning them for Meryl Streep.)

But I don't mind. Winning is only worth something if the game has meaning. I'm not going to play again until there's something at stake.

Maybe I should have a go at BBC1's Wipeout with the delightful Richard Hammond. I reckon I could beat those balls.

And get past the obstacle course too!

Ahahahahaha!

See?

See?

The thing is,