Me Again.

I sometimes wonder why I make the posts that I do, since most of them are of no value whatsoever to anybody but me. I usually conclude that they are little bits of the current me seeping out into the ether, like steam from a valve or the overflow from a flooded slurry pit. And as such, they have value of a sort.

But I sometimes wish I were less self-aware, and spent my time engrossed in TV soaps and cookery shows instead. Critical awareness of self and circumstances might have done Carl Jung some good, but to most of us it’s a recipe for discontent.

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And a Russian correspondent in the comments section of YouTube told me today that in Russia, bad humour is known as ‘English humour.’ I didn’t bite.