Insert cliche about London buses here

Thinking about getting a hit counter just to see how long I can keep it below 10. Or would it be too depressing to keep pasting these little daubs up if no one sees them. Tree, forest, no one, fall, sound? etc. Perhaps it means this, what do they call it, a blog? Really? Perhaps it means this blog doesn't exist. A blog? What is that? Slang for constipation?
Sorry about that. For a moment I turned into a comedian from the 1970s trying out new material at a holiday camp in the north-east.
Where was I?
By the way, as has almost certainly been pointed out by 27,352 people, the spell checker on this thing doesn't recognise the word blog.
Moving on.
Do you like the view (look at the pictures below dummy)? I do. But it's time to move on (in literal and metaphorical senses).
Perhaps it's time to try to reach out into other areas. Change. And not the small kind (apologies, it's a bad gag and it's stolen, I am a puddle). Why am I telling you this? Who cares? But it's out there now. I think I know the job I want. They're advertising. I have the qualifications and the experience. But it's a case of persuading them that, aged 33, the reason I have spent the last six months off work is consigned to the last six months. It's a case of persuading them that my heart condition (or failure as we like to call it) is not going to cause me to take more time off work.
"Of course, I could be dead in five years."
"That's good, we don't like our staff to become stale. It's a severe form of moving on but it fits in with our corporate plan."
Getting to interview will be tough enough. Leaving my current "job" will be easy. The only reason to stay is the money. And before any of you non-existent readers remark on the six months off thing and how nice they've been need to understand how horrible they were before the six months thing and how they had no choice due to being a public sector employer and there being rules about that kind of thing.
But I will have this condition for life. I do not know how long that life will be. I owe it to myself to make that life as decent as possible and my current job will not allow for that.
So I'll have to sell the flat. First I'll have to clean the flat. Or more specifically, the carpet. Or even more specifically, pay someone else to clean the carpet.
Whatever happens, the view is temporary for me. I know that now. Sure, it looks pretty permanent but I found an old picture of me with my brother and my dad taken in the very early eighties in Greenwich Park and none of the buildings the sun is setting behind were there then. So perhaps all views are temporary.
And on that philosophical note...