Pimms and Penguins

On Friday night Lovely Boy and I went to the Zoo. The first and last time we were here was just over four years ago now: on A Date. One of our first dates actually and it made for the ideal location given our awkward, bumbling, out of practice romantic intentions. Oh look a monkey! A pretty bird! A meerkat! etc etc.

This time around we're husband and wife and while arguably less bumbling, there was still lots of awkward distractions. Oh look! A man in a tiger print onesie! Oh look! A group of adult women getting their face painted! Oh look! Those two came dressed as a camel! etc etc.

Meerkats and pink elephants

I have been a rubbish writer of late and I'm only vaguely sure why - the usual excuses of procrastination, distraction and ambivalence are as shaky as my hands after an excessive night of drinking cocktails and passing out instead of sleeping... but I'll get to that. I think what's happened is I've reached a curious sort of existential crossroad in this whole writing about my life in a public forum lark. Here's my question: When does writing too much, being too explicit, getting too personal just get weird? Never mind slightly compromising...

I've always tried to write honestly, though with an at-times inconvenient conscience that tells me (scarily enough in a voice reminiscent of my grandmother....) that if I can't say anything nice then I shouldn't say anything at all...