Pointing Percy at the Oubliette

These fourteen months have been cruelly lonely.

It’s a sad business when you’re the only blogger on Blogger whose interests include the xylophone.

That’s what I was when I started out. And that’s what I thought I remained.

Silly me!

If instead of wallowing under this duvet with three (dead) chorus girls and a signed photograph of Freddie ‘Parrot Face’ Davies for the past year-and-a-bit I had spent my time obsessively checking the Blogger listings like the rest of you, I would have known my isolation ended after just two months, when Percy Chanel came on the scene.

Percy is a 104-year-old male Virgo (oo-er, missis) located in Babooda, Honkoo Tonkoo, Bouvet Island. Among his other interests are ‘destroying piccolos and other wind instruments’, trainspotting and counting marbles.

Why, we’re practically soulmates.

Or so I thought before reading this brutally dismissive, Rhett-Butler-like avowal:

i am EVERYTHING YOU R NOT, INCLUDING SMART, HOT AND DESIRABLE.

Well, as Larkin said, useful to get that learnt.

If we’re going to be all frank & harsh & candid, may I point out to Mister Chanel that I’ve written one hundred more postings than he has, and 700% more people have read my profile?

In fact, he’s written precisely ONE POSTING, whereas I’ve been sitting here at all hours, churning out deathless prose in industrial quantities while seldom pausing to eat, shave, or renew my subscription to the Illustrated Journal of Early Eye-Gouging Equipment.

But he must have something I haven’t, because look, Edward Gibson of Tip Top Equities has left him a 425-word comment, and he’s never posted so much as an epigram at Toasty’s Futon, despite my constantly emailing him and hanging around outside his house with boxes of chocolates and electric prods.

You must now imagine me pouting, and kicking a trash can.