You know that dream you have when you realise you’re the only person with no clothes on?*

Well that’s how I feel whenever I give someone this blog address. Which is why I’ve almost never done it. But then I went out on Saturday night, to a grown-ups party, with NO CHILDREN, and I relaxed. Lordy, I relaxed.

To quote an ex-NSW Premier, I was about as relaxed as a cricket and chatting to my friend Tony Park (hi Tony, hardly anyone comes here, and according to our site counter a strange proportion of those who do, speak Norwegian… but if anyone uses this link to buy your books you owe me commission).

So I’m chatting, and chatting, and then somehow I’m chatting about blogging. And while any decent drunk would have forgotten all about it by the next morning, Tony is not any decent drunk. I blame it on his extraordinary height: I think gravity just gives up and lets the alcohol pool around his ankles instead of his brain.

I also blame it on the fact that he’s got used to sharing explicitly written sex scenes with his mother (a truly lovely lady) and mother-in-law (equally nice, I’m sure) when they edit his manuscripts (published by Pan Macmillan, folks, click here).

You get the dustjacket picture?

Tony Park: journo, traveller, Army Reservist. Very tall. Makes his mother read his sexual fantasies.

After his 7th SMS today asking for the blog address I’m thinking it’s time to stop being silly and share it around. Yes, even to Pete. It will give you both something to call web research next time you’re looking for billable hours for PR clients.

But watch out, Captain Park: while you’re searching for rude bits about the Professor you might instead find yourself in the middle of one of Kim’s descriptions of pregnancy induced vaginal varicose veins. Be afraid.

mtc
Bec
* the last time I uttered the words in this title, the three people I was with all looked at me curiously and said, “No.”