365

The time of resolutions being here,
I can confess the one I made last year:
So vast a vow, so grandiose a folly
As hubris will essay when times are jolly;
Namely to post, come Hell or inundation,
One entry per terrestrial rotation.
That epic task complete - one post for each
Foul day - it's time you all endured a speech.

As is well known, a blogger's life is lonely.
Bereft of real society, with only
Vile Facebook and our violent games for chums,
We're all embittered psychopathic bums.
And yet - pathetically - we must needs
Have things to speak of, though we speak as weeds.
If mudgeonry's the thing, one must pour bile
On fellow men; no misanthrope's an isle.
Accordingly, I first should thank the folk
Who've ulcerated me. Dear Daveybloke
And all your bully-boys, what would I do
If not for little charmers such as you?
My debt could take the whole decade to pay;
For now, I'll thank your betters, if I may.

To my dear chair, my gratitude profound
For keeping of my arse above the ground;
My cushion, in its efforts never stinting
To stop the slats my buttocks from imprinting;
I think a word of thanks is also due
My monitor, mouse, keyboard, CPU,
Without which useful bits of techno-stuff,
The input-output process might be tough.
I'd further like to thank my ISP,
Which spent October entertaining me
With constant broadband cutoffs, and some nice
Long hours of muzak waiting for advice.
It gave me grounds for many a hearty laugh,
And put the phone bill up a hearty half.

I thank BenSix and Bliss, fine bloggers who
Read books by me, and troubled to review;
I bow, and recommend your time and thought,
To Mr Justice Stapley and his court;
I thank the sage of Brighton, just McKeating,
Who's done some very charitable tweeting;
And Scotland's Michael Greenwell, who did not
Link only, but gave blog-space to my rot.
Less frequent, although more profound, than me
Is techno-mnemonist Giovanni T;
I thank him and all stalwarts who, despite
My ravings, read and comment on this site,
Among them my most frequent and most true:
Miss Googlebot, the belle of Mountain View.

No doubt the mudgeonry will not grow less;
Although in twenty-twelve, I must confess,
Even should chance and Chancellor allow
Me to retain the pittance I have now,
I may in conscience give some days a miss:
The leap year could well kill me after this.
The business has exhausted me to buggery;
So pardon, if you will, this meta-bloggery.