An awful lot of my recent posts (you have recent posts?? surely shome mishtake. -Ed.) have dealt with the subject of why I don't post as much as I used to, which frankly seems self-indulgent to me, and probably to you also. So I'm not going to go into details, except to say that this blog exists to provide a constructive outlet for my dementia, and recently I've been feeling quite sane. So there you go.

My employers continue to satisfy the judges' panel in the Stress Inducement, Herculean Workload and Poor Reimbursement categories, although their recent decision to allow me to go on a training course for a piece of software technology less than a decade old has led to a surprisingly low 4.2 in their Career Development Hindrance marks. I can only presume in their defence that as soon as I return from the course, the Pointy-Haired Ones will decide to re-design the system so that the aforesaid piece of software is no longer required. It has happened to me before, and nothing in their behaviour since then has reassured me that it won't happen again. Bumholes to the lot of them, frankly.

My kids continue to grow at a stupendous rate. Sarah is now three and a quarter (!!! tempus bloody fugit) and shows an alarming tendency to like dolls and wear a lot of pink clothing, despite my best efforts. She has started reading, which makes her extremely smug and self-satisfied so she insists on stopping to point out letters and small words everywhere, including road signs and the name tags on shop assistants, which makes us a regular target of staff amusement in the supermarket. So does her habit of announcing the urgency of her toilet requirements at the top of her voice; my personal favourite the other day was having "daddy daddy daddy I reeeeeally need a poo" yelled at me just as we joined the back of the mile-long checkout queue. David is increasingly enormous at 17 months, and is apparently made mostly of vulcanised rubber as he loves nothing better than toddling about, usually trailing a long, thin puddle of spilled milk from his Piglet cup, crashing head-first into solid furniture or walls and shouting "David bump!" then giggling his head off. And then there are the twice-daily fights over who gets to play with the green train, which as far as I can tell is functionally identical to the black, red and blue trains but seems to have some unknown superior quality which is apparent only to small children. Aside from all that, they're adorable.

There you go, that's my present life in a nutshell. Now you say something.