I keep tuning into the blog to see if there are any new posts. The world of blogging hasn't miraculously opened up to me, and I don't really know what to do with it. I'd like to have a blog with a filing system. Random thoughts, rants, poetry, sports, whatever. So far, with only two posts, who cares.
So far I can think of only two things to write. One is an essay on Tour de France, a competition I've followed since Greg LeMond beat Laurent Fignon on the last stage. 1989 for those not in the know. I haven't been able to find the enthusiasm this year, partly, as Mr. US Postal claims, because there hasn't been an individual time trial to divide the serious overall competitors from the day-to-day salt-of-the-earth people. And it's been flat for so long. Today is the first real Pyrenee stage. I should be glued to the telly. Alas, something's rotten in the kingdom of Denmark.
The second possible post would either be on internet friends, or internet men, or men, - and seing as I may regret saying anything at all, even to a blog noone knows about, that'll keep.
But back to the bicycles. This year I'll watch the last stage! Blimey! I'm in Paris next Sunday. Bliss in itself.
So something should be written, I gather. Later.
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