As I accompanied my four pooches and their suitor (the big black hound) this morning on their daily constitutional, six small planes were criss-crossing overhead, leaving vapour trails behind them (yeah, right!). I know, I know, chemtrails are a conspiracy myth. So, instead of cursing, shaking my fist at them or worrying about what the hell I was breathing in, as I normally do, I found myself chuckling at the memory of this day last year, when I decided I’d be posting every day of 2025.
But who was I kidding? I neither lead a life so fascinating nor possess a mind so endlessly creative.
I did, mind you, once post every day when I first joined the blockchain, nearly nine years ago now. There was a great fella around then, 
I was off to a flying start. Then I discovered the fabulous Freewriters and kept the daily habit going. Back then I wrote a lot of longer-form fiction, something I can barely even attempt now.
My imagination seems to have deserted me. Perhaps it's the effect of leaving the city with its constant stimulation, and retiring to the countryside, where the most exciting thing that happens in a month of Sundays is someone discarding a mattress.
Or perhaps real life has simply become a little too… surreal.
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