Today is My One Year B***********

The Doctor was beginning to regret getting so many pets….

*

Today is my one-year *l**********.  When I told the Hub, he insisted that I can’t use the word ‘**o*********’ because it’s just too naff and he doesn’t want to be known for having a naff wife using the word ‘***g********.’  As this blog is mostly about him, I had to listen to his argument.  Especially as he had me pinned to the floor with a knee across my larynx at the time.

I decided to celebrate my ****i******* by taking a look at my statistics (as if I don’t look at them every day, drooling with excitement that three people linked from Writer’s Island and the two-hundred-and-eighty-ninth person accidentally found me by typing in ‘your old as woman feel’) .   I would tell you all about it but I can’t help feeling that a) it’s dull and b) it would be rather like swapping salary stories; I just don’t think it’s the done thing in the blogosphere.  I can tell you, because I have a little stat counter on my home page so it’s something you can check for yourself, that my target of 10,000 hits for the end of the year – 2010; not the year since I started blogging, which is today.  Did I mention it was my *****v******? – will be reached sometime in the next ten days.  I hope.

Now I have to set a new target.  That involves looking at statistics.  Umm…  2782 in my first half and 7016 in my second half which is an increase of something percent so if I factor in my poor maths skills and multiply that by my one year *****e*****, take away the number I first thought of and stop for a chocolate break, my new target will be 17,000 hits by 31 December.  (Don’t let the science fool you; this is what’s technically known as a ‘thumbsuck figure.’)  And look at that!  I finally managed to legitimately pull together three punctuation marks.  Go me!*

*

I have a bit of a problem: I set myself today’s target of writing the word (though it’s not really a word and in the opinion of the Hub is a bit naff; did I say that already?) ‘*******r****’ twelve times in this post so that anyone who’s a bit clever, like, could crack the code and discover for themselves what the word is (it’s ‘********s***’).  Thus, I would be obeying the Hub’s diktat not to say ‘*********a**’ but subverting it at the same time.  I’m too smart for him.  Trouble is, I’ve run out of things to say.

Oo!  Oo!  Just had a **********r* flash of genius – isn’t it ironic that the first anniversary of a blog (wink wink) – an electronic media (medium?) – should be paper? Why?

*

Today is Rallentanda’s POW prompt day.  The prompt is to write a Who Am I?  poem.  The first was written in response and is easy; the second was written about eighteen months ago and is more difficult if you are not interested in Royal history – which, inexplicably, many people aren’t. 

Answers on a postcard please; or in the comment box.

*

Who Am I?

I’m craggy but handsome; fecund but cute. 
I look good in blue or my birthday suit. 
I act; I direct; sometimes I produce. 
I had a great wife but I played fast and loose. 
Dad wanted his son to avoid Vietnam:
I’m Aussie; I’m Yank; I don’t give a damn.
Famously Catholic, I’m hypocritical. 
I’m occasionally drunk and anti-semitical. 

Who am I?

*

Mother Knows Best

There is so much angst at home
when your Mum sits on the throne.
She says it is my duty
to wed for State, not booty.
I know that I can’t fight her:
she’ll pull her corset tighter
and declare she’s not amused;
I must consent to being used.
Avoiding war is wiser:
I’m off to raise a Kaiser. 

*

 

 

*Sorry, I’m excited.  Today is my ***********y.  

 

Ha!**  You thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t you?   

 

**Will somebody please close the exclamation mark factory door before I overdose?