A Touch of the Dr Foster’s

Have you ever got into something a bit too deep?  Started out to do something which appeared quite straightforward and simple then found it gradually, or perhaps even suddenly, turning into a completely different exercise from the one on which you embarked.  Well, that’s why I’m here.

Not to help you.  Don’t get that idea.  Don’t let the title mislead you into thinking that this is a therapy page.  No, I’m here because that is exactly what I’ve just done.  Found myself in too deep.

I was signing up to wordpress in what has since become apparent to be a vain attempt to solve the problem of the loss of email alerts from a blog of which I am a reader.  I thought perhaps that registration would restore the missing alerts, and I was not aware in advance that registration comes with one’s very own blog page inextricably attached.

For those who are already deciding that this page isn’t for them, the blog in question is JoeblogsF1, by the esteemed Formula One journalist Joe Saward, and it’s a damn sight more interesting than anything I’m likely to come up with, today or at any time in the future.  And that applies whether you love F1 or hate it.  I’m quite content to get my disclaimer in early, this page isn’t favourite to contain any great level of informative chat, or even entertainment value, but if you’re a fan of car crashes in the less metallic and more metaphorical sense, you could yet be onto a winner here.

Sidetracking for a moment, if anyone who is unlucky enough to stumble across this page happens to have any (successful) experience of reactivating email alerts to wordpress blogs, do please share your method in the comment section.

So, as I say, I had no intention of signing up to write a blog of my own, but I realized as I went through the signing up process that that was the particular road down which I was purposefully striding.  And yet, and yet…  I strode on regardless and arrived here with no idea of what I am going to write.  Not so much up to my middle, as totally in over my head.  That the alert system no more recognizes my email address now than it did before I registered seems quite trivial now, in my daunted state.  An indefinite length of time stretches indefinitely ahead of me, as is its nature, and I have not a clue as to the subject matter I shall explore.

Doubtless some feeble form of inspiration shall come to me and I’ll find topics on which to report or air my views.  And just maybe there will be somebody out there sufficiently unencumbered by such inspiration as to have nothing better to do than read them.

Time will tell.