A Virgin Coprophile

An apology and a bit of an explanation is in order, methinks.

For the past week and a half my blog has been available to me only. This was due to a security alert and a plan to delete any posts that mentioned my employment. But sifting through over three hundred posts to find references to the job that I am currently employed to do was a mind-numbing and energy sapping exercise so I took the bit between my teeth and deleted every single post. This has pissed me off somewhat because apart from detailing three years worth of ups and downs of an 'alternative lifestyle,' it did actually serve a worthwhile purpose. It allowed me to scan back to confirm that I'm just as unprepared to run the West Highland Way Race now as I was in 2010, 2009 and 2008.

So I begin again with a virgin blog. I'm afraid to say that, in future, tales from South Chelsea will be non existent. In fact, depending upon the outcome of the present situation in which I find myself, the opportunity to mention South Chelsea or the London Fire Brigade may well be removed anyway. It seems I may be a 'future pension liability.'

I shall say no more about it than that but would suggest that a clearer explanation may be found in my mate's blog, The Beirut Taxi, which is linked on the right.

So, we'll see how we get on with the blog in it's censored form and with its right to free speech limited. Richard, the author of the blog mentioned above, has stated that it will be shit. He may well be right but I doubt it will get anywhere near the shit situation I am now in and how shit I've felt this past week and a half.

My shit situation is so shit that it's shittier than a coprophiliac considering a Cleveland Steamer while armed with a knife and fork (I'm aware that my more morally upstanding readers will have no idea what a Cleveland Steamer is so I've added a link to the Urban Dictionary definition. Click it if you dare).

To give you an idea of how shit this shit situation is consider this:

Mrs Mac had secured employment in Surrey and was due to relocate herself and her daughter from Strathaven to Chez Waterman.

Like, next week.

Oh the prospect of my house becoming a home again with the sound of a family echoing within its walls rather than the silence created by a single father and a Staffordshire Bull Terrier (there is also a seventeen year old daughter but she makes little noise from her bed where she seems to spend most of her time).

Oh the prospect of coming home to freshly cooked food that ensures the ingesting of five a day rather than stopping at the kebab shop for a large doner with chilli sauce.

That plan has now changed and Mrs Mac remains unemployed and a resident of a far away land where men wear skirts and women have a heirarchical system based upon the number of their remaining teeth. This is a direct result of the shit situation I am now in.

It seems the silence and kebabs are to continue for some time yet.

But at least the blog is back up and running. Shit though it might be.

Laters.