What can I say?

I'm not entirely sure about it, but I think I may have been given some sort of award by Jacqueline, over on her blog. If that is the case, then I'm also not too sure about the protocol for graciously receiving it, other than I should be so emotionally overcome, that I have trouble remembering who to thank at the award ceremony, and eventually end up screaming "THANK YOU MOTHER!" through the tears as I wave an enormous, gold figurine of a naked man (hiding his private parts with a big sword) at the assembled losers down there, beneath me up here under the lights on the stage. Anyway, if I am mistaken about this late recognition, please bear with me.

I think I am also supposed to share my brief moment of glory with seven other people too, but you can forget that. It has taken many years of trudging through the wilderness to finally arrive at this exalted position, and I have arrived here many years too late, so if you think I am going to waste precious time out of the limelight by wracking my brains to think of even one blogger who comes anywhere near my level of brilliance when it comes to publicly exposing oneself over the internet, you can forget it. No one's going to steal my thunder. I didn't get where I am today.

Now, about these seven secrets that I am supposed to reveal about myself... let me think.

The trouble with publicly exposing yourself on a daily basis over a period of many years, is that one soon runs out of secrets to reveal. It is widely known, for instance, that I was born Thomasina Stephenson, but had myself surgically rearranged into the fine figure of a man that I am now, so that one's old news.

The only good secret I can think of to reveal is so good, that I would be arrested within 24 hours of revealing it and only released from prison long after I am dead, so that one is out of the question too.

Did I mention that I can trace my family history way back to one parent in 1950? Yes, I think I did.

I was once caned at school for drawing a thumb-nail sized picture of Mickey Mouse on a wall covered in graffiti, because another boy went up to the wall immediately after me and wrote "SANDRA KENT IS A PROSTITUTE" in six-inch high letters, right over my picture of Mickey. I have never felt the same way about Disney World since (see previous posts). I have never felt the same way about Sandra Kent either - I wonder how she is getting on these days.

Everyone knows that I am partial to a nice drop of wine, but did you know that I am quite keen on 18th century glasses to go with it too? Oh yes, you did. I am deliberately writing this blog in the early afternoon, sober, because I am emotional enough about the award as it is. Just think how gushing I would be if I was writing at midnight, having consumed a bottle of the stuff.

Ah! I've just thought of a genuine revelation (and this one is true) which will make up for the other six which you already know. I always win competitions with this one, whenever someone asks a group of people, "What is the strangest thing you have ever eaten?"

I once ate a necklace made from human bone, which was brought back from Africa by Sir Richard Burton, placed in a museum cabinet in Oxford, then stolen by a smash and grab burglar and sold to a South African antique dealer in Canterbury, who gave it to me for safe keeping. I couldn't think of anything safer to do with it than eat it at the time, so that's what I did. Beat that.