No. It’s not my fault.
Father asked me if I’d like to write a blog-for-TOG.
So it’s his fault.
Well, okay, it is my fault because I agreed; but it’ll be your fault if you read it.
If you don’t read it then this blog doesn’t exist. But if you do read it then it does exist. Tree? Forest? That sort of thing.
Ipso facto, I am innocent if you’re reading this.
There, see, it’s your fault after all.
In the least I hope you’ll find something amusing here. In my life, if I can make a person smile, then I’m doing okay. If I can make a person think about something new, then I am doing okay too. If I can combine both then I am allowed to have a glass of wine.
That’s a fair call. You chuckle AND think: I get a glass of wine. Or a beer if it’s hot enough.
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine, 'I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine'.
Unfortunately, my Doctor, who’s also my daughter’s class-mate’s father, which has the potential for some awkward moments, say, in a three legged race or too much of the aforementioned wine at a parent teacher night, doesn’t think my wine consumption is threatening my liver. “Unfortunate” because I was hoping I was drinking enough. Obviously not.
So kind reader, you can make amends by having a thought and a giggle; that way I can ruin my liver and cheer up my doctor.
Ultimately you’ll need to make amends for my ruined liver because… well that’ll be your fault too.