Rick Wright, of Pink Floyd fame (not me, in other words) died on the 15th of September. On the 14th of September, this website had 22 visitors. On the 15th, it had 2738. On the 16th, it had 2709. Things petered out a little after that, and by the 22nd it was down to a paltry 215. Yesterday, a mere 56.
In the last month, I’ve had 9487, probably slightly confused, visitors.
I hope some of them bought a book.
In other news, after the last post I promised Tash (hi Tash) I’d cough to what happened with the half-marathon I was supposed to be doing. Alas, it’s not a terribly exciting tale. You may remember that around May, just before I went to Majorca, I sprained my groin (far less amusing an injury than I always thought it would be). It took about nine weeks before I was able to run properly again, and when I did, I was very tentative indeed. Mid-August saw me getting back into it properly, but that left four week until D-day, and I had a long way to go fitness wise to get to half-marathon stage. Still not there, in fact. That was when I threw in the towel.
On the marathon, but not the running, which I’ve genuinely started to enjoy, and am feeling increasingly smug about as my fitness improves. As the half marathon was a goal to keep me running, it’s more or less done it’s job, despite my non-attendance.
That said, the idea of running a race or two still appeals, so watch this space.