Well, that's it, then. No diatribe on what the web means to us, no flashy graphics with crudely drawn grins, no starry-eyed optimism about us being chickens.
Right. So there I was, walking home, ok, maybe not quite so brilliantly, walking through Kensington Gardens, even though it seemed half the lights had been turned off. Oh, and it was evening, past being dark already. Of course.
It wouldn't make much sense for me to mention the lights being mostly off if the Sun happened to be shining all over the park, making it generally bright enough to not care with respect to the lamps welfare. They'd just be a bit ineffectively redundant at that point. Not that I've ever been, or have shown myself to be, averse to mentioning to the point of lauding the redundant. But, in this case, let's just move on, realising that it is evening, the Sun is nowhere to be found, and the lamps mostly all happen to be not working, either.
Noticing this, I still, which is why this idea and course of action maybe wasn't quite so brilliant on my part, ventured forth into the gardens. On my way home. Alone. Which may, yes, come as a surprise to a great lot of you.
Not that I began the evening alone, oh no no no, and believe me, I had quite enough fun for one night, let me tell you. Honest.
At any rate, I ventured forth, walking with a slight spring in my step, possibly due to a mild fear, what with walking in Kensington Gardens at night, and having just run the previous week through Phoenix Park at approximately 2 a.m. after realising Mary McAleese probably isn't up for early morning chats over my rent being too high.
Things were going fairly well, fear not getting too much further than me repeating (possibly singing) something or other about "it's ok, it's all right, we're all a-ok," over and over again. Until the rest of the lights in the park went out.
Then it might have gotten a little bit worse.
So.
I was walking not quite so jauntily, shaking visibly, had there been light to allow visibility to be an option, and I remained muttering/singing to myself, as I was hoping I'd acquire the ability to maneuver about the park by picking up the sound waves off certain objects --benches, trees, wild packs of bandits, Pip, discarded popcorn cartons. This didn't work quite so well for the first few steps, banging my shin quite painfully off a bench, and getting a popcorn carton stuck on my foot while stumbling away from the bench, moaning.
It was the most frightful of nights, a night I would wish on no one, friend or foe, and I honestly hope you never have to experience the like.
"And," with hushed tones, "what happened that night in Kensington Gardens, with no light to guide you, to protect you, with only the wind as your friend, and then not a very good one, it blowing your hair about constantly and mussing it up. Did any dreadful harm befall you?" you ask.
Well, it did.
I stepped in the largest pile of horse manure I'd ever seen. Had I been able to see it, of course.
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Brush your teeth now, it's past your bed-time.
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. hanging on like that cat in the poster.