Thursday, September 23, 2004

All Gone To Look For America 

I have some good news and some more good news.

First, you won’t have to put up with my inconsequential blatherings for a couple of weeks or so, as I‘m Going Away For A Bit. Hooray!

Second, - and I’m genuinely quite excited about this - there will be not one but three groovy and entrancing guest bloggers here to keep an eye on things and generally service your A Free Man In Preston needs. Hooray some more!

In the red corner, we have captivating luscious Leanne, Bolton’s former premiere trapeze artist and tiger tamer extraordinaire. Leanne is new to blog writing, and I’ve absolutely no idea what she intends to write about, if anything, so Ladies and Gentleman, keep your fingers crossed and please give a big round of applause for the one, the only, Leanne!!!

In the blue corner, fighting fit and revving her engines, all the way from Paris, France we have the supremely talented and tantalising Petite Anglaise!!! Petite Anglaise doesn’t know me from Adam, nor me from her Eve. Or something. Basically, we’ve never met. What I do know is that she’s a right proper blogger, funny and sexy and intelligent and everything. I trust her implicitly with my blog, and I’m ever so flattered that she said yes to the invitation to guest here. So let me hear you make some noise for the exotic, the daring, the intriguingly Anglo-French Petite Anglaise!!! Woot! I don’t think I’ve ever said “Woot” before. I didn’t get it embarrassingly wrong, did I?

Last but not least, in the taupe corner, we have the more or less entertaining and occasionally funny Secret Knowledge Of Backroads. No, I’m just kidding! He’s actually rather excellent. He hails from somewhere in the North of England, and has a wit sharp enough to puncture tractor tyres, should the need ever arise. In fact, tonight I experienced my second micro-blogmeet, because me and Backroads have just enjoyed a clandestine pre-guest blog briefing in a dark corner of a Wacky Warehouse somewhere off the M6. I’ve told him what to do if the switches trip (the fusebox is by the front door), where the stopcock is (in the cellar under the stairs, mind your head on the joists) and what to do if Big Dennis comes to the door demanding money (pay up). So please throw your hats in the air and give a big blogging Howdy to Backroads, your third super soar-away guest blogger for the foreseeable future.

I did tell all three guests that I’d provide them with a few guidelines and ground rules on how to conduct themselves here, but being lazy and incompetent, I never got round to it. So instead, I’ll leave them and you, gentle reader, with a few wise words - a poem actually - stolen wholesale from future Poet Laureate - mark my words - Simon Armitage. This ought to do it. Later, dudes.

“No more mularkey, no baloney. No more cuffuffle or shenanigans; all that caboodle is niet dobra. It will end this minute. No more fuss or palaver; no more mush or blarney. No flowers, by request; no offence meant, and none taken. No more blab, none of that ragtag and bobtail business, or ballyhoo or balderdash and no jackassery, or flannel, or galumphing. Listen: from this point forward it’s ninety-nine and forty-four hundredths per cent pure. And no remarks from the peanut gallery.”

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