Where is the giver of treasure?

The wondering wanderer returns, wondering if wandering about wondering, or indeed wandering, is worth wondering about.

Since I have been away, it seems that the blog world didn't also stop and I have some serious catching up to do. I don't know why this surprised me. Maybe, subconsciously, I had presumed that I was like some sort of cyber-Bagpuss, and that when I didn't blog, none of my friends would blog. In reality, I am probably more akin to Professor Yaffle, wittering on as though I know what I'm on about, when at the end of the day everyone knows I am nothing more than a bookend shaped like a woodpecker.

I really have to work on my similes.

Hands up how many of you read that as 'smilies'?

Hah, bet you feel daft now. You've got your hand up and you're probably on your own. Or in the library. Or one of those internet cafe things where they serve USB compatible paninis. I presume.

You may have noted that I have not got a particular subject in mind today, and am mainly posting because I haven't posted for a while and don't want my blog to rust, or get arthritis or blog-rot, or whatever it is an unused blog gets.

Considering I've just come back from an enjoyable week away in Croatia, I should have lots of things to blog about. And I have, but they're all jumbled up in my head at the moment, fighting it out with the after effects of premium strength lager and a berry aneurysm that I'm hoping will shrink any day now. As soon as they coalesce into something approaching viable blog-fodder, I'll spew them up and out like a lumpy broth of lukewarm brain-vomit for you to splash about in.

I also need to work on my metaphors.

I will, however, compare and contrast the views of the hotels we stayed in after leaving home. We went from Gatwick airport and so, in the interests of making things easy on ourselves, decided to stay over the night before as parking is included and it's not much more expensive than paying for parking only. You can pretend the holiday starts a day early. In Crawley.

The hotel was quite nice but they had to work with what they'd got, and in the middle of Crawley, what you get is the following view:


Oh wow! Is that . . . I believe it could be . . . the Inalnd Revenue office there? Is it? I think so . . . oh wait, no. My mistake. Looks very similar though. Never mind.

Compare that with the view we got from our room in Rovinj, Croatia:

See them? They're trees them are. They're relaxing, are trees. Well, the trees aren't relaxing themselves, obviously, I mean they're relaxing to look at. Unless they are relaxing. Do trees relax? They always seem so tense when you feel them.

As in Crawley though, there was a road nearby, and I saw cars on it nearly three times over the week, but I magnanimously decided not to complain.

I did get a few good pics out of my trip, and no doubt they will spill forth over the next few posts.
Be still your beating hearts, eh?



Another thing whilst I was away was that I got an award! Yay me! Go me! Gimme an Em. Em! Gimme an Ee! Ee! Me!

It was from the vunderful Vic at What Were You Thinking, a blog so full of talent that you could put a floppy hat on it and call it Sir Olivier, so if you haven't experienced her yet, then I recommend that you go and let her do her stuff to you right now.

Well, after you've finished here, I mean. come on. Be fair.

I've had the odd award before, which are usually in the form of a well-travelled internet meme, and comes with a set of rules and an attitude that suggests, if you don't accept it, you will be hunted down by the internet police and subjected to a vicious frowning.

This one is different though. Vic made it herself, and that, in my opinion, makes it a bit like when you get some dried macaroni and glitter stuck to a paper plate from a favourite niece, that you put up and treasure as if it was good art. You know, proper art, like one of those pre-Raphaelite fey maidens looking demurely at a rugged Prince in the distance, whilst wondering how big his willy is.

She even did her own award picture, with a capitalised P to show how respectful she is about my blog:

Now she has picked it, I am presuming she will move on to lick it, roll it and, in due course, flick it.

What more can a chap ask for?