I've been hitting-and-running the blogosphere lately and I apologise to any of you who feel I've been short-changing you a bit.
Part of it is down to pressure of work - there are a few big projects on the boil which depend on me not being so disastrously out-of-touch with the needs of the modern world as I am now (and it's no consolation to say that while I feel I'm two or three years behind the technical requirements of our customers the library service is ten or fifteen years behind me). I'm running hard and getting nowhere and wondering if there's anywhere there anyway.
Part of it is that after five years and two-and-a-half thousand posts of adolescent whingeing I've raised the bar of abject idiocy pretty high. Where once I could witter on about the dodgy lift or statutory returns; milk a few sarky comments out of the high standards of the council's building projects or fulminate about the piles of old crap littering the place I can't really any more. It's all just part of the wallpaper. We expect there to be forty boxes in the fire escape corridor, the same way as we expect Frog's first exposure to the council's Young Person's Reading Strategy to be on one of the library discussions lists or for us to be in month twenty-four of an office move-around that revolves around making space for a non-existent coffee table. It comes as no shock to find out what we're doing this summer from contacts in the housing benefits section or from library authorities in the south-east or from customers of Gypsy Lane and Spadespit libraries. It hardly at all needs mentioning.
I'm struggling to much care.
Don't worry, I'll do what I'll need to do: some half-baked bit of magic which delivers the required illusions and misses a world of possibilities which would only frighten the tiny tots.
And I expect I'll need to carry on venting in this blog.