Je m’accuse

I am a terrible blogger. Not “oops-forgot-to-post-this-week” terrible. Industrial-scale, negligent landlord of my own contact form, terrible.

When I set up this blog in 2017, I created a “Contact” page. A tidy little form for readers to reach out – to me, the attentive host. Today, moments ago, I opened it for the first time since launch.

The inbox was an archaeological dig: the oldest message dated February 2019, the freshest stamped yesterday. Mixed strata: a few spammers, several earnest souls, some quite lovely – and now quite abandoned – overtures.

Links from the patient (or long-since embittered) include:

Others left no forwarding address. Perhaps that’s for the best.

I won’t be answering five-year-old requests for commentary. The ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, and rests peacefully in the Mariana Trench. I might still look at some under the “too little, too late” amnesty programme.

I could promise to reform, but you and I both know recidivism rates. Still, I apologise – sincerely, even. These transgressions are mine. The others? They’ll keep.