Winds of my thoughts passing by

So the weirdest thing happened. Okay, maybe not the weirdest. Certainly not as weird as the time I cycled drunkenly around town going from Darragh Doyle haunt to Darragh Doyle haunt hoping to finally meet him in person so that I might tell him that I don't really think he's a tiresome tosser but am secretly and car crashingly in love with him. That was somewhat more weird.

So, a slightly weird thing happened. Some randomer landed on this good green gaia yesterday with a google search for 'Robert Eagar'. Robert Eagar was my grandfather. I clicked on the post in question which went by the name of 'Robert Eagar Notes'. Robert Eagar was my grandfather, he wrote Notes. As I clicked I tried to recall having written about this great man, but as it turned out the post was not about him. It was about me. Quelle fucking shocker. Clearly this was not the weird part. The weird part was that the post marked my first bleugh birthday. What was seriously freaky deaky is that totally unbeknownst to me yesterday marked the second. Same date. Like I say, not Darragh Doyle desperate drunken passion weird, but weird all the same.

It's meaningless, of course, particularly considering my many sulky sabbaticals over the last twelve months, but still, happy fucking belated bleugh birthday to me.