Bill 'n Mill(a)

Well, the bag's out of the cat now. Bill and Milla are joined as one, in perpetual harmony, except for the occasional Augmented 6th for extra flavour.



Why did I pose as that which I am not? That's not easy to answer. Milla has many sterling qualities, but you wouldn't want to bankroll her in a game of poker. She wears her heart firmly on her sleeve, and so I could hardly be unaware of the increasing interest she was showing in the Country Life ... er ... competition. Promotion. Whatever. That, and the fact that I scarcely saw her from alarm clock to Bedfordshire because she was tap-tap-tapping away, either blogging, or chatting, or emailing, or commenting.



I took a look at the Country Life blogs to see what all the fuss was about. I didn't at that time post anything, but I became aware of some of the contributors who have fetched up on these purple fluffy shores.



Standing by mutely while your loved one roars at injustice in the blogosphere doesn't really work for me. When darkhorse came up on the inside, obviously pumped up on steroids, the dam broke and I resolved to get involved.



One of the things I liked about the Country Life site was its relatively civilised atmosphere. I've been involved in the Internet and the World Wide Web for quite a few years, making particular use of Usenet. There you will find all sorts of truly appalling behaviour - racism, sexism, and all manner of flame wars. With the exception of one or two posters, such confrontational behaviour was largely absent from Country Life. It was my opinion that the generally reserved nature of the site was responsible for certain contributors gaining ascendancy - and I particularly reserved my disapproval for darkhorse. It seemed clear to me that she (I assumed a she) was effectively cheating, by simply typing and posting in order to rise up the rankings, and thus increase her visibility. A better (and, I think, more acceptable) way would have been to read others' blogs, and comment on them. The prevailing ethos in Country Life seemed to be to return the favour - if you comment on mine, I'll comment on yours, resulting in many good and unexpected friendships. In this way she (darkhorse) could have made her way up the rankings list - far more meaningful, in any case.



Why did I get involved under an assumed name? Well, my middle name is William, so it wasn't entirely false. In fact, I went to some lengths to try to disguise my true identity, while not actually lying. I can't confirm this because I can't access any of my blogs on the Country Living site, but I was not setting out to be a complete fiction. It's fairly common practice to post on the Internet under an alias, anyway - there are far too many spammers and nutters out there to do this under an account that matters to you! I have at least ten different accounts precisely for this purpose - these assumed identities are often called sockpuppets, but I don't use them for purposes of deception, merely disguise.

Unfortunately this rather backfired on me. My initial comment on darkhorse did not pass unnoticed, and I felt compelled to stop lurking and actually blog (because, essentially, that's what I was told I had to do if I was to have any credibility. "Put up or shut up", as it were). The problem was that Country Living is not my natural milieu, and I didn't feel that I had anything very interesting or pertinent to contribute on my own behalf, at least nothing that hadn't already been co-opted by my dear wife in one of her blogs. If I had come out fighting identified as Milla's husband, I could (with justification) have been accused of partiality; that doesn't mean that I wasn't right!

O dear. I get the feeling that I should stop digging. However, hindsight (and research) tells me that there were quite a few Country Life contributors who agreed with some of my comments - at least on the subject of darkhorse who, as we all know, went on to win the "competition". So I beg your pardon if you feel that my hiding my feeble candle under a bushel was deceitful - it was intended to be merely deceptive.

Now that this is all out in the open, I doubt that Bill will have much to say on his own account. Milla is by some margin the better, more amusing and wittier writer, and I have Building Inspectors to berate and twenty-two doors to varnish. Two coats. Rubbed down with Wet'n'Dry between each coat. Of course, we've also got to kick the builders out. And get a new Dyson. And house-train the wretched puppy. And house-train F8.

Why thank you, and a joke

I must say that your welcome messages are very heartwarming, and I must try to do my best to live up to your expectations. I fear that the word "curmudgeonly" will from time to time prove appropriate - I can be a tad misanthropic; rarely if ever Pollyanna.

Shorn of a direction such as provided by blogging on COUNTRY Living, I find myself uncharacteristically lost for words. I suppose I could tell you what I had for breakfast, but that would surely lose the audience (unless I confessed to baked cat, or frogspawn, or something).

So, I thought I'd post a joke. It seems that jokes are all the rage on PurpleCoo.

Harry is getting along in years and finds that he is unable to perform sexually. He finally goes to his doctor, who tries a few things, but nothing seems to work. So the doctor refers him to an American Indian medicine man.

The medicine man says, "I can cure this," and he throws a white powder into a flame, whereupon there is a flash and billowing blue smoke.

Then he says, "This is powerful medicine. You can only use it once a year. All you have to do is say '123' and it shall rise for as long as you wish!"

Harry then asks, "What happens when it's over, and I don't want to continue?" The medicine man replies:"All you or your partner has to say is '1234', and it will go down. But be warned -- it will not work again for another year!"

Harry rushes home, eager to try out his new prowess. That night he is ready to surprise Joyce. He showers, shaves, and puts on his most exotic cologne. He gets into bed and, lying next to her, says, "123."

He suddenly becomes more aroused than at any time in his life, just as the medicine man had promised. Joyce, who had been facing away, turns over and asks, "What did you say 123 for?"

And that, my friends, is why you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition.

Hello, one and all

Some might remember me as an unwelcome presence on the Country Living website, where I initially made a pest of myself, and then back-pedalled hard to regain some semblance of mob approval.



I've been keeping a weather eye on PurpleCoo and all the goings-on, and thanking The Powers That Be (buzz off Richard Dawkins) that I was never involved in the competition (or was it a promotion? I understand that even now squadrons of highly-trained, sorry, highly-paid lawyers are preparing to do sematic battle over just this question).



So here we all are, freed from the tyranny of having to write about our rustic existences. I don't mean that we can't - I just mean that we don't have to, or at least we won't be excluded from consideration for the competition if we stray onto other territory.

I suspect that I'm about to find that I'm not really one of life's natural bloggers, because nothing very interesting happens to me. That's how I like it, but it doesn't make for very good reading.