So, I got a little over-excited about the prospect and the scope of cyber showing-off last night. I emailed every man and his whippet to tell them about this blog. Some part of my drunken brain somehow managed to delete my Dad (thank the Lord, he would NOT be amused), my sister (she would be less amused) and my Auntie in New Zealand who may have just been a bit traumatised from the email distribution list before I sent it. However, I did think that some of my Dad's friends and my ex-boss would be interested, (hello David), and a string of people I have worked with over the years would really, really want to read about my children's toilet habits.... Cringing as I type this. I can only hope that they have already added my email address to Spam and the emails won't be delivered. Who the hell do I think I am?!
Which leaves me with a problem: how on earth am I going to stop myself posting on this thing when I'm pissed? I have had three glasses of wine as I am writing this but that is surely acceptable. It is Father's Day after all, and I have a father, and live with a father, and Sebi pooed his pants twice today so it is technically medicinal. Shelley, my BFF, suggested once that I should get some kind of brethalyser hooked up to my laptop so that it ceases to function if I am over an acceptable limit. Very good idea, maybe someone who is technically minded and reading this could invent it and I will do the marketing and product testing?
For now I will just have to deal with the Sunday morning shame every week, or stop being such a sad old git and start going out on Saturday nights again...
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