Kol Nidre

Writing a blog is a dangerous past-time. One has to be so on one's guard. A friend's indiscretion, a touch of local scandal, however tempting, broadcast to the bloggosphere can end friendships, cause heartache and possible civil and criminal proceedings. Which is such a shame since it's much more fun to write about your neighbour's sexual peccadillos, or their awful taste in footwear, than not.

The quarry for one's blog is always a matter of considerable effort and worry. If something's happened to you recently, which doesn't expose you or anyone you write about to ridicule and a full page pic in the "red tops", you've a natural source to draw upon.

But what happens when nothing happens, when life just glides by with little of note to mark out the passing of the days? Then it's down to dredging the murky depths of one's memory in a desperate attempt to find something that on the page scintillates and stimulates your reading public. Imaginative writing can come into play as you transmute the commonplace into a universal truth. Or you simply observe or report.

This is the old stand by for me. A quick read of the papers and an angle and, hopefully, something will spark the creative engine. Alternatively, one just types away on something vaguely philosophical; like I'm doing now.

Which, frankly, is a bit of a cop out. I mean, it's all pretty boring don't you think? As well as risking making the author sound like a first rate plonker.

So why this?

I have a confession to make. It's my 400th post and I've run out of material. That's not strictly true: I've run out of stuff which I think is of interest to my many, many, fastidious, intelligent and discerning readers.

I believe you've read enough of my health and my interactions with the medical profession. Of the local politics that is Waltham Forest's comic farce. Of cats and how I love 'em. Even tales of 'er in doors pale.

You, beloved readers, only have to pick up a paper, tune the TV or radio to learn more than enough about the dire state of the economy, here, there and everywhere. Along with the failure of the political classes to address the concerns of million. Anything I have to say is facile.

Tales of my youth? I'm not sure I believe them so why should you?

No, for my 400th post, it's straight reporting and nothing else.

"I have this neighbor, who for the sake of privacy, I'll call Mrs. Greenberg. She was having this embarrassing problem. She farted all the time. Mrs. Greenberg decided to visit her doctor. She went to her appointment and spoke to Doctor. "I fart all the time, Doctor Johnson, but they're soundless, and they have no odor. In fact, since I've been here, I've farted no less than twenty times. What can I do?"

"Here's a prescription, Mrs. Greenberg. Take these pills three times a day for seven days and come back and see me in a week."

The next week, an upset Mrs. Greenbeerg marched into Dr. Johnson's office: "Doctor, I don't know what was in those pills, but the problem is worse! I'm farting just as much, and they're still soundless, but now they smell terrible! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Calm down, Mrs. Greenberg," said the doctor soothingly. "Now that we've fixed your sinuses, we'll work on your hearing." "

Well, what did you expect?