Now, before you all start calling the Coast Guard or Mountain Rescue, or slapping a whatever-the-opposite-of-inexplicably-is embarrassing photo of me (because Lorde knows there are heaps of them) up on a milk carton or lamp-post, let me just say that I have not been abducted by aliens or run off to join any one of several intolerant hate-filled hierarchical and conservative religious clubs that are currently vying for global recruits. Despite my background as a consulting theologian, there are two things about the phrase "organised religion" that fill me with enough dread as to make the alternative probing by ET seem the undeniable lesser of two evils, should either option have been offered to account for my absence.
Elections don't come cheap. It's always good to have as many funding streams as possible.
Karatu, Tanzania, 30th December, 2014
No, I have instead been a) mostly in Tanzania and b) turning 42, both of which I'm sure you can understand have had a profound effect on me and so filled me with things to write about that, like the multitude of germs pushing through the open door of Mr Burn's immune system, they have successfully held each other perfectly in check and enabled the recent output on this blog to approach absolute zero.
(Not unlike the weather that greeted me here in Dublin upon my return. Brrrrrrr)
So long has it been since writing, in fact, that I am no longer even sure if the word "blog" is still a thing. I could try dropping my laptop down the stairs to see I could make it Tumblr, that seems to be what all the cool kids were doing two years ago. If I had cats or bland-looking identikit friends doing EXTREME things like beard-wearing or ironing (both of which I was doing before it was cool, I'll have you know) I could snappity-chat pics to you instead, as I think all the cool kids were doing last year. Or, like the paisley shirts I finally was able to buy after almost twenty years, I could just hang around and wait for blogging to eventually come back in to fashion.
No prizes really for which one I'm going for.
And while we're waiting for the Mayan Apocalypse Wheels of Fashion to rotate round this way again, you will be delighted to know that I intend to subject you to a series of Attenborough-esque photos (the wildlife guy, not the dinosaur-theme-park-of-death one) mixed in with the usual moderately ill-informed opinions and conjecture, only slightly moderated by the wisdom that comes with increased age.