I have resumed normal transmission and am only normal-level bitchy now, you'll be pleased to know. P is grateful to still have his gastrointestinal system intact, untouched by a rusty spoon or otherwise.
Normal level-bitchy, I'll have you know, is snark delivered with a laugh. P's still acting cautiously, however, in the light of last week's rampage (Godzilla through Tokyo = Hormonal A through the Lavender Loveshack, laying waste to all before her.) He sent me an email the subtext of which was a request for permission to play golf tomorrow. I imagined him wiping the sweat off his brow when my response was a simple (snarky) query as to whether he'd be able to get out of bed in time and not a threat of grievous bodily harm.
My mother pointed out to me once that P is interested in many classic man pursuits, which enables him to make easy conversation with other blokes. She's right I suppose: he golfs, fishes, is a low-level motor-head (much as it pains me to say so), he's into wine, whiskey and beer, takes seriously the rugby (oh dear lord is he into rugby) and cricket, and he is co-ordinated enough to give most sports a bash.
Whereas these days, my interests appear to be: brunch, booze, my couch, the cats and getting a haircut. I've gone off playing team sports, mostly because I'm terribly unco-ordinated but also because my job often meant I couldn't commit to regularly attending practice. For a while there, I was excellent at arranging schedules of open home attendance. I really do need to find something to fill that gap.
It didn't occur to me until reading that last paragraph back that my interest, it seems, is documenting MEMEME and my life. On the internet, not just in a personal journal. That interest doesn't stretch to editing what I write, apparently. It's just spilling words out onto a virtual page for my own interest further down the track. I suppose reading other people's blogs is a bit of an interest as well. I really do need to get out more.