Through a (stout) glass, darkly.

Jenny again I’m afraid.

Perhaps the only benefit, ceruminiferous and arachibutyrophobic reader, of holding the keys to Olly’s blog is that one can bag him out in public to the few sad souls who might consider themselves his friends.

Not that there is anything particularly satisfying about bagging him – finding fault with Olly is just about as challenging as the point blank harpooning of a beached whale. And a fair bit has been done already by the readerdinghy (Ah– do you remember when dear Olly started that one going?). Yes, much has been proposed by the reader Poohstick (Oh, it still makes me laugh): Some say that Olly has deserted us to wander the streets of Stirling looking in craft shops, that Olly is making warm soup and sitting by the fire holding hands with his lady friend, that Olly is planting beans against the coming season and weaving dream catchers to hang in the window of his love nest, or even that Olly has been busy removing the nutrients from the lunches of his friends. All of these are true, and sadly these activities leave Olly no time to post.

But what are we to do? Olly will not declare himself dead. From time to time his ghostly presence is felt in the form of a comment by Bobby H, or Olly will take an occasional break from his thriving legal practice to put about rumours that he is working on another post; a post mind, that he has been shaping lovingly for seven months – SEVEN MONTHS.

And so we go on; returning to the blog as to an old vice, greedy for any fleeting pleasure we might find there, but too aware that we will leave soon enough, disappointed again that we have not seen the hand of Olly.

Well, the violinists played on as the bogey sank:

Q: After “My Mother the Car” which are the next best TV theme song lyrics?

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