Memes, memes, the magical fruit...
Abi, stinkbug that she is, memed me. I never do these things, but for her, this once....
And this is harder than you might think, for someone with ZERO sense of privacy. I keep thinking up these morbid confessional tidbits that won't do at all. Ah well, here goes:
1. OH, THE DOMESTICITY
I knit. Not very quickly, and certainly not very well. But I do knit. I know, not exactly mind-blowing, but I'm warming up...
2. THE NICKNAME
My nickname (in my family) is BR. At about the age of three, I announced I wanted to be a football player. To be later modified to aspirations of kangaroo-hood. This was followed by a brief period of wanting to be a bunny rabbit, which unfortunately stuck, and my nickname throughout my childhood (and for a few family members even still today) was BR. You can figure out what it's short for.
Okay, more contemporary stuff: Every time I see one of those commercials on the telly with high-performance cars zoom-zoom-zooming along Black Rock salt flats, with their synchronized fishtailing and all that, I feel extremely jealous. I would love to drive like that. Left over from my motorcycling days, maybe. I love the feeling of riding the perfect line, but pushing it fast enough that the tires are just on the edge of tearing off the asphalt.
Hmm, this is getting tricky... I can do that same thing that Martin can with his eyes, in fact we compared techniques when I was out visiting in Scotland, but have no pictures of myself doing it.... That's copying, anyway. Let's see.... Oh, my yet-to-be-born baby, now a whole 22-weeks old (in utero) and who will make her grand entrance sometime this June, has been dubbed "Spike" by Gary K. Wolfe, and now is referred to by that name at The Mag. Go figger... Spike....
5. A TUNE
How about a song? I doubt anyone reading this has actually heard my old band, Peachfish. This is our bass player Alex and myself, singing a "bar hall" tune.
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