Four Play

I started this blog four years ago today – originally to record, for posterity all my brilliant exploits on the rugby field. I finished all those after the first 2 and a half days – and even then I was exaggerating a fair bit.

Since then I have expanded into taking the piss out of stuff like politicians generally, Brexit and Donzo in particular, reality TV twats, idiots who somehow survive on the planet and anything else that gets up my snoz.

I also give the benefit of my rugby wisdom in predicting rugby results and team selections – these are invariably complete rubbish – as my mates are only too keen to point out.

Despite the nonsense that I shove up here, this has been viewed almost 115,000 times – mostly by people who I am convinced, really should get out more.

The number of countries where it has been read now totals 171 – although, for the life of me, I have no idea what those in Cote d’Ivoire, Guam and Qatar make of it. I can only assume they tune in for the regular mentions of the Doris from ‘Debbie does Dallas’ or in the hope that I might include some decent porn links. Thinking about it, that is probably why anyone bothers to come here – I know it’s why Harro bothers! Airdy and Farrelly too probably.

This is post number 3,187 – I only know cos the nice people who tolerate my rantings provide statistics – which is also how I know how many have visited and the locations where they hang their titfers.

So, in the 1,461 days since I started (including one leap year) I have added on average 2.18 posts – including Christmas day  and family birthdays – so patently I have absolutely no life!

I have no idea how many photos and cartoons I’ve put up – the bastards don’t keep a record of those. This is probably just as well as I nick most of them from the internet and some are almost certainly subject to copyright laws.

If they do catch up with me my defence will be one of the following “It’s a witch hunt, I’ve been hacked, fake news or Sad”. If that idiot can get away with it my chances must be at least better than even.

This time next year I will be three score and ten (which sounds better than just being “fucking old’) – if one day it suddenly stops you can reckon that I have gone to join the ‘choir invisible’. They will be right pissed off too – my singing is bloody awful


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