Quo Vadis?

So: what next? The fundraising will continue, so if you’ve found some spare change down the back of the sofa cushions, please send it in; but what of the blog? I’ve sort of got used to writing it now but of course Darlington to Vienna is over. It’s finished, completed, at an end. Who am I writing for now; is there anybody out there? Knock three times on cyberspace if there’s anyone there. If one of the first stages of madness is talking to yourself, then where along the line of looniness does writing to yourself crop up? I’m not even sure my own family read this stuff and of course, quite a few of them have died; even further reducing my potential readership.
If only my parents had had me when they were younger – not only would they have still been around to read this, but there would have been legions of aunts and uncles too.
The children are on holiday at the moment, so I might try bribing them to read the blog and if that doesn’t work it will have to be force. Phil described some torture implements he’d seen in a schloss in Salzburg and I think with a little modification…….

As you may have noticed, I’ve altered the blog’s format so that now it loads from the top – ok, so I’m a slave to convention but I reckon it probably works better and I should have done it earlier.
I have a belated meeting with the Worshipful Mayor of Darlington this afternoon so I’ve just spent half an hour riffling through my wardrobe to find something to wear, but there’s a snag – nothing fits me anymore. I was hardly Charles Atlas when I set out on this trip, but now I look like a split pin – if the wind gets up, it fills my shirt like a spinnaker and I’ve all-on to stop myself ending up in Lancashire. And people keep saying:
“Oooo you have lost weight; there’s nothing left of you”. And I go into the: lifting the shirt and showing them the thrice scarred belt buckle routine, and the fact that my jeans are rucked up like the blowy end of a balloon. So why is it ok for these folk to tell me I’m skinny and yet if I say “Wow, you’ve bloated up since I’ve been away”, they get a bit tetchy and go and talk to someone else?
Anyway, I hope the mayor doesn’t see this afternoon’s meeting as a photo opportunity because I will be turning up looking like a refugee

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