Another year, another notch of recognition on the bedstead of glory. The Welsh people as one have promoted me from Tenth Welshest Blog Ever to 47th Most Currently Cambrian Chatterato. Thank you all.
How the bell curve can that be progress, you ask? The number of Welsh web bloggers has increased exponentially in the past 13 months, as unemployment makes hunching over your computer in a Hong Kong Phooey dressing gown (minus bandana) a credible career option.
To be 47th in this teeming pool of opinions, lists of random things and ineptly-embedded video clips is both more intense and more significant an achievement than, as Madame Boyo put it, gaining plaudits from a baker's dozen of slackers who are probably related to me anyway.
On receiving my last award, I set out the following Two-Year Plan:
- My ambitions for the next two years of blogging? Well, first up, I don't want the celebrity to ruin me. No tabloid rumours about Duffy seen leaving my shed in the early hours, no freebasing Brains and cockles in John Malkovich's hotel.
- I'm happy with Mrs Boyo and her threats of unnecessary surgical procedures.
- Otherwise, I want to clamber up the Wikio Top Ten like a bandwith-drooling zombie until I reign supreme over the deleted comments of mine enemies.
So far so good. With 11 months still to go I've not had any quality time with the Nefyn Nightingale or Big Bad John, or even Charlotte Church for that matter.
Mrs Boyo and I have rubbed along well enough to grace Wales with a masculine child, thereby ensuring that the Line of Boyo will continue the work of Glyndŵr, Mabon and Shakin' Stevens.
And I have no enemies, merely friends I haven't yet annoyed.
So what does the future hold for the Boyo Media Foundation?
I'm not one for senseless dreams, but it's fair to say that my Olympian public profile makes a Senedd, or indeed Westminster, seat on the Cymru Rouge (Round Table - Fuck England) ticket pretty much inevitable.
A busy parliamentary career as the sole true opposition to Bernsteinian ameliorationists, bourgeois nationalists, Tory ponces and that Estonian sex-maniac in Montgomery will not distract me from blogging.
The new emerging media are confounding their critics by playing a pivotal role in the struggle for human dignity, from the live-bloggers of Rangoon to the Twitter protests of Tehran.
As these innovations reach maturity and come to supplement and stimulate the established media, it is more important than ever that there are still some of us out there letting the side down.
I pledge to the people of Wales that I shall not cease from recounting my abuse of Soviet hospitality, fatal cocktail recipes, inaccurate film reviews, scorn for the public-spirited and desire to mate with various fading, and in some cases deceased, 1960s celebrities.
In a very real sense, it is the least I can do.
13 comments:
Whenever I come across a Welsh blog (other than this one), I always make a comment asking the blog owners to present their credentials to your good self. They either ignore me or assume I'm making an obscure Welsh joke...a joke which I don't get, I should add.
Congratulations - these internet awards are like gold dust. Absolute gold dust.
I'm loathe to have a pop at Guerilla Welsh Fare. Afterall, he's a non mover at number one of Welsh blogs, and I've not read it yet, but one thing he seems to have over other bloggers is that the blighter's blogging every single day.
I don't believe in lists - which is why I constantly post lists, as some bizarre aversion therapy - but even Pol Pot started out as 47th Most Potty Genocidalist, and look how far he got. Strewth, that picture of Sian Lloyd, though.
GB, I owe everything to you except my looks. Keep sending me Welshers, and I'll keep sending you wannabe apes like Sir Tom Jones.
Welcome Brit, I've enjoyed prowling round your blog. I'm thinking of setting up a university in the United States to issue Internet awards.
Emerson, I too am in awe of bloggers who put up something every day. I see myself as more of a Musil. I wonder whether unemployment makes people blog more (more time) or less (more time devoted to enervating activities like morning drinking, television and self-pollution). There's a thesis in there. Or a blog post.
Gadjo, making lists is part of being a man. As is admiring Lla Lloyd, who improves with each passing year. Mind you, there's barely a woman out there who doesn't benefit from a wonderbra and a pair of slapper wellies. Look at all 1980s sci-fi flicks.
Ah, thankee. I particularly like your use of bold text. You're possibly the best emboldener on the web.
There should be an award for it.
Brit, as The Undertones said, it's going to happen.
I started using it for bizarre juxtaposition, but have slipped into conventional behaviour. Like the Formalists, I must "make it strange" again.
"Bernsteinian ameliorationist". Ace insult Boyo, it's the way it doesn't trip off the tongue. I shall try it at poker tonight.
Someone might accuse you of "Coming the Kautsky", Inky.
Once, while driving through South Oxfordshire, I expressed mild pleasure at the sight of haystacks, and copses. Madame Boyo called me a "Zasulich remnant". Good name for a band on the John Peel Show c1983, I thought.
Bernsteinian ameliorationist was totally fucking useless Boyo, you owe me. Also I don't even think it's Welsh, or human either, babelfish couldn't translate it. Into or out of any language.
What can I say, Inky: in the words of Otter out of Animal House "You fucked up - you trusted us."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-glKGjp50Ug
No Good Boyo, like cigarettes, is exquisite and quite useless.
More of a Musil? I bloody well hope not. The first 500 pages were alright - ish - but after that I lost the will to fucking live. I still wake up at night screaming if I start thinking about it. Oh, and Bernstein kicked arse. With size 12 steel toe-capped boots. "Parch", as they say in Queensferry...
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