Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 9 May 2014
Fortifies the over forties - the Sanatogen post
A casual and passing reference to my May birthday a couple of posts ago, caused Jack@ (Jacqueline at Home) to put on her Sherlock hat, do a bit of detective-work and discover not only what my real name is, but also my exact postal address.
I got home last night to find a Jiffy Bag containing a birthday card, and a DVD of a BBC series featuring one-time barmaid of The Bell Inn, Julia Davis, and Rob Brydon - all exquisitely wrapped in decorative paper and indestructible string.
I so wish I could show you the fabulous handwriting on the envelope, but to do so would either mean deleting just about all of it, or giving my full name and address to others who I would not trust with the information. I suppose I need not worry about this too much, because it has become apparent that if anyone really wants to find out who I am and where I live, then a little effort in analysing past posts makes it relatively easy, but I don't want to hand it to axe-murderers on a plate. My life is worth a little more than that, I think.
Let's just say that when I read the envelope, I initially thought that an owl had brought a missive from Hogwarts, albeit about 50 years too late to discover that I am a wizard - 'and not a bad one too, I'll wager'.
Thank you Jacqueline.
This internet malarky has made Dick Barton's life so much easier - no more trawling through stacks of paper files down in the basement of the Town Hall. It can all be done from the comfort safety of your own home, though your own home has been made a little less safe as a consequence. Nothing is free.
We (the Hattatts and me) were only talking about personal information on the net only yesterday, and I made the observation that there is next to nothing about me out there, which is - for the time being - the way I like it.
Occasionally, I type my name into Google to see if I have been entered for any reason, but - as always - I only make a cameo appearance in another stone-carver's website and the photo attached is about 30 years old and of the top of my head. Even the hair-colour is wrong.
If you type Tom Stephenson into a search, there are a couple of professors at the top, followed by a footballer with the same name along with a rather fetching photo of his girlfriend wading through the sea topless, which I have already shown you, then this blog appears about three more entries down. Most people stop at the topless girl picture, I would imagine.
I only know two people who want to hide so badly that they are willing to forgo a bank account just to stay off the electoral roll, and I know that both of them occasionally read this blog.
One of them describes themself as a 'sniper' (studiously avoiding the tag of 'troll') and the other is my brother, who nobody wants to contact anyway, having given up on the thousands of pounds he relieved them of years ago.
The one thing that all of us shrinking-violets in Blogland have in common is our fairly advanced years. A blogger under the age of 40 is a rare thing, I think, and our posts are in stark contrast to the terrifying quantity of gigabytes of personal information put out by the under 40s on Facebook, etc.
If you have something to sell, then fine - advertise it - but can you imagine anyone actually paying for the foul-mouthed insults that I regularly put out from here?