It’s been nearly 1 year since Happiness Stan last posted a post. I lost my mojo. Gave up. Couldn’t be arsed, so to speak. But give a guy a break. In that time I (we) have:
- Moved house (major trauma)
- Changed jobs (but not company) – even more major trauma and I still never know what the next day will bring
- Oh, and adopted some children (major total mega what-the-frickety-frick trauma)
Because of these major life-changing events (you know, those kinds of events you read about in the news where somebody loses a major body part in a terrorist attack where they refer to it as life changing but….
It’s been some time since the Happiness that is Happiness Stan saw fit to write something. For Happiness Stan has been about as happy as a fart in a thunderstorm. Not happy. Not happy at all.
I could go into the intricate details surrounding this lack of happiness….and i will.
Moving. To be specific. Selling one house and then buying another. And then moving from the former to the latter. They say that moving is akin to dying*. And it is. At various times death would have been a…sorry I’ve been distracted whilst the wife is singing along to a live TV version of the Sound of Music…It’s okay she’s gone to get some wine. Anyway back to my point…death would have been a sweet release. The issue?
*(I made that up but it is true)
I am preparing my beach body for this year’s hols. I am not entirely sure what this means, what it will look like, or how long it will take. But it better bloody get on with it because time is running out.
Nevertheless I have found some inspiration:
Has anyone experienced this phenomenon? Sudden increases in page views? Not matched by increases in visitor numbers?
It happens occasionally:
Previously on Happiness Stan…
I went to the butchers and they were slightly annoying.
So a month or so ago we set off shopping, but decided to explore the more rural parts, south of where we live, looking for somewhere different to acquire some bacon and eggs.
We ended up in deepest darkest Surrey (about 5 miles from home).
Here the locals speak in strange dialects, and wild pigs forage for truffles (this may or may not be true, the shop staff we spoke to didn’t have strange dialects, although that might have been because they weren’t local – they could have been bused in from Northern France – and I didn’t spot any pigs, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there, hiding their truffles).
Deepest, darkest Surrey…