It's been about 18 months since I first started doing this. Splabbing my guts out all over the internet. Pausing next to my family members with a mental notepad, waiting for them to write the gags in this script. Ever read the Goosebumps children's stories? Didn't think so. Anyway, author R.L. Stine came up with the series: dozens of stories, each featuring some nightmare horror character. The series made him one of the best-selling authors of the 20^th century. I kid you not.

But I don't write of his success, but rather of his formula. I feel like I have become formulaic. I have caught myself dashing off entries that bear a striking resemblance to things I vaguely remember in the past. That must be the ultimate in self-absorption: Plagiarising yourself. Sure, my kids still say funny stuff (like Hannah calling beetroot 'Boot-root' for instance), and Neen still allows me to speak of her without complaint, but I think I must be boring you guys.

I found that those 'meme' things, ie, lists of funny things that you answer, and then nominate others to answer, were hard work, with little return. I'm not very creative. I like words, but I don't generate many original thoughts. I'm like the David Bowie of blogs- building on others great ideas.

So where to from here? I have made some great friends, some have stopped blogging, some have passed through, and I still bump into them from time to time. I know many of you as intimately as you have felt authorized to allow (Thanks for not going overboard!) I see now that that is what blogging is about: Reaching out- meeting new people, and sharing chunks of our lives.

I've read as some of you have confessed feeling weary with it. Fine! I understand. I have tried too hard to impress sometimes, and maybe even said some things that are hurtful, under the guise of 'trying to be funny'. Sorry.

Sheryl has had her delurking week. She has one of the most consistently brilliant blogs on the planet. She is great at saying encouraging things, too. Sometimes, I read all of your pages, but don't comment. Sometimes, I just run out of time, especially expensive internet time.

Yesterday, I was considering pulling the plug on the whole thing. (No, not ME, people, this blog). (If a blog shuts down in the forest of cyberspace, does anyone even hear you press 'disconnect'?) (But then I thought, I can keep it going. It helps me to write about things. Maybe it gets tiresome for you to read my diary, maybe you are sick of my phraseology or my sense of humour. Maybe you read for other reasons. I don't mind. Some of you are as close to me as friends that I see and give those uncomfortable sideways men-hugs to. I can't promise you substance here, but I can try to be honest. I can try to be less concerned with hits and comments.

Delurk if you want to- that is introduce yourself- but if you don't, I will do my best to find my security in my God, my family and (whispering) reality. Not that you aren't real, but to skip out on doing real stuff so you try and think of things to write about is silly. I'll still post, but if it doesn't happen every day, don't worry, I'm still here.

Thank you all for reading. I absolutely love to hear from you, and feel privileged to share in your lives. I'll try and avoid the dreaded formula-style writing. First, though, I've got to rid myself of formula-thinking. (I'm thinking of that movie, 'Village of the Damned': those creepy blue-eyed kids that can read your mind, so the only way to beat them is to visualize a brick wall or something).

Brick wall… brick wall… brick wall… D'Oh! I just had an idea for an entry involving buying a packet of Triffid seed at the garden shop, and what would happen to the neighbourhood…

Mental hiatus over.