The Final Cursor

Dear delectable, ravishing readers,

It is with great sorrow that I announce the terminus of this blog.

For four long, arduous years I have slaved away at my console, toiled on my type-pad and sweated in front of my touch screen.

But through it all, even when there were chilblains and gout, I did it my way.

Hmm. I should probably stop with the beastly butchering of Frank's song, shouldn't I? Well, you know what, I'm not gonna because I wish to end this My Way. And My Way means putrid puns, pernicious parodies and appalling, atrocious, abhorrent alliteration.

I am aware that I have attempted to end this blog once before. But then we began our unconscious re-coupling and for a while it seemed as if we were destined to be together forever. We talked of marriage, joint bank accounts and tracker mortgages. Ah, those blissful days seem so far away now...For today we must part and promise never to sleep with see each other ever again. Well, OK, maybe just a quickie at Christmastime.

In keeping with my fellow countrywomen and men, I will be holding a garage sale of all Well Fan My Brow's worldly belongings. I feel that this will be the most fitting way to mark the blog's conclusion. So if you fancy getting your mitts on a WFMB pencil sharpener, pocket calculator or shot glass then please come along. If no one comes, myself and my underling, Norv will smash and burn everything and then get drunk.

We'll probably do that anyway.

And now, 'hit-send' is near
And so I face the final cursor
My friend, I'll key it clear
I'll state my typeface, of which I'm sure 'o (of)
I've writ a life that's full
I composed each and ev'ry font-way
And more, much more than this, I blogged it my way.

Thank you for enduring reading.

Hola Melancholia

Hello, glimmering readers.

Well Fan My Brow is four! Yep, my wee blog has hit the big, erm, 4 which means she can now brush her own teeth, tie her own shoelaces and plait her own hair. Unfortunately, she still has trouble writing her own name but is shaping up to be a real whizz at algebra, trig and long division.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I hot-footed it back to WFMB HQ to throw a tremendous party, inviting all other young blogs in town to attend. You think those kids in hats over there are having fun? Pah! What a knees-up we had. Well, myself and Norv upped our knees. The blogs just sort of sat there, knee-less.

Below is a timeline of the day's events:

1.23pm
Birthday blog doesn't want a party and locks herself in bathroom.
1.54pm
Norv tries to break bathroom door down.
2.04pm
I break bathroom door down. Effortlessly.
2.05pm
Norv insists I broke door down only because he had already 'softened' it for me.
2.09pm
Norv and I squabble about who is the better door breaker.
2.25pm
The birthday blog has gone AWOL.
2.49pm
Birthday blog located hiding in tumble dryer.
2.58pm
Norv and I crack open gin.
6.18pm
I awake from gin stupor.
7.03pm
Head downstairs to find three little blogs and Norv watching The Voice on iPlayer.
8.00pm
The three little blogs go home.
8.41pm
Birthday blog put to bed.
9.02pm
Norv and I open another bottle.
9.37pm
Hola melancholia!

If you have been inspired by the WFMB bash and are thinking of throwing one for your own little Ms/Mr blog, do let me know how it fares.

Please get in touch also if you need anyone to sup up any surplus gin.
Small print: I charge by the hour, cannot be held responsible for my actions, and may break your bathroom door down. But I will bring my own tumbler :)

Partyville

Dearest readers,

You may remember that my last post contained exciting information about the upcoming fourth birthday celebrations of this here bambino blog.

You may also remember that I asked for your comely suggestions about how Well Fan My Brow may mark its momentous blogday.

Well, before my little blog stripling heads off to hell, I mean, primary school, with a packed lunch of Marmite sandwiches, a packet of Monster Munch and a Wagonwheel, it must celebrate (after all, it's only going to get worse for the dinky blogmite; high school, acne, eye infections, etc). But how?

Below are some of your ideas thus far:

Take the blog ten pin bowling - Dale
May have trouble picking up the bowling ball, Dale. It is only three and a bit, and those balls are heavy for pudgy blog hands.

Swish it down a waterslide at Splashland - Tia
Presents a bit of a problem with regards swimwear. A blog in a bikini would be obscene.

Get it trollied - Leroy
What are you people, animals?

Dress it up as a cowgirl and go trick or treating - Filipe
So many things wrong with that idea, Fil; a) we are nowhere near Halloween, b) this is not ET.

Take it to the Littlechef for a Jubilee Pancake - Karla
Best idea so far, Karla. Well done you.

Have another bloggy so that its got a younger blog to play with - Charlee
Oh, lord; I would not go through a second blogbirth for love nor money.

End it - AnonYmuz
You're going to have to be a bit more specific there, Anon. The blog? Me? Me and the blog?

Party like it's 1998 - Leya
Ah, 1998; I remember it so well. I remember it because the one thing I was most certainly not doing that year was partying! I hate parties! Parties hate me!

But then, this isn't all about me, is it, readers? If the infant blog wants a party, then we'll just have to throw a hellzapoppin' party! We'll invite lots of other wee bairn blogs over, lock them in a room for a few hours together, while the Hokey Cokey plays on a loop in the background. Meantime, whoever's in charge (I'll hopefully be in Des Moines, so it'll probably be Norv who comes out in hives at the faintest whiff of Pass the Parcel) can take to their room with a long, tall glass of Mother's Ruin. Sorted.

The Birthday Blog

Hello, celebrated readers.

Do you have a birthday coming up this year?
Will it be your birthday?
Are you going to mark the occasion of your birthday by posing for Playboy?

Birthdays! Where would we be without them? A lot younger, probably. But also a lot less sick of jelly, ice cream and animal balloons. Enough of the sarcasm, I hear you cry; why am I going on and on about birthdays? Because, oh marzipan-topped readers, Well Fan My Brow is having a birthday!

Yes, like that well-known supermodel who recently had a birthday with a number 4 in it, WFMB will shortly be celebrating a birthday which also contains the number 4. Actually, it will only contain the number 4. But still! A birthday! A birthday number 4!

Unlike that well-known supermodel, however, WFMB has no plans as of yet to pose for Playboy so just what should this little blog do to mark the occasion? Although I am currently on secondment to Southport - Southport, North Carolina - I have found time to gather a few thoughts on the matter. Below are some of my ideas so far:

Pose for the Railway Gazette (International edition)
Tastefully done, all private blog parts will be covered with a station master's cap/whistle

Pose for Buses: The World's Biggest Selling Bus Magazine
Could include a special 'route-master' of WFMB's nether regions

Pose for Practical Boat Owner
Centre page spread of the blog with the wind up its sails

Pose for Plane & Pilot
Cockpit shot of blog - X-Rated

Pose for Trams Magazine
Featuring a fold-out pic of the birthday blog astride the Manx Electric Railway
(If you are of a sensitive disposition, this may be too saucy)

So, those are my suggestions. What about yours? WFMB will not be hitting the big 4 until April but I would like to get the party started so please do send me your thoughts. I may even invite you to celebrate with me. May. I said, may.

P.S. I could just ask my assistant, Norv to pose for Playgirl.

Good Morning, Christmas

Well hello, tinsel-trimmed readers.

Please do not let the chap to your left put you off your eggnog; he's just a trifle glum because he hasn't been invited to the Well Fan My Brow Continental Christmas Market yet!

Not to be outdone by Manchester, London, Edinburgh, Vienna, Salzburg and Southport, we (Norv and me) decided to hold our very own market of good cheer in the backyard of WFMB HQ.With just one week off from my Big Apple sojourn, I thought: what better way to celebrate being back in the North West than with a ruddy good attempt at a European festive-themed mart?


For your delectation, please find below the provisional line-up of stalls:

Spit-roasted Care Bear
Not too sure if we can get hold of any hogs in such a short time but a slice of this in a bun should be just as tasty.
Mulled 7 UP
We're both a bit skint actually.
Breadsticks in a Pint Pot
Pretzels were obviously our first choice for wheat-based snacks to soak up all the 7 UP.
Branston Pickle at 20% off
Christmas is a crime without chutney.
Mini Babybels
No explanation needed.

So that's it with the food and drink. Now comes the fabulous assortment of gifts on offer:

Sellotape Chokers
Little sister sorted.
Paperclip Wristbands
Older brother ticked off.
Kitchen Roll Paperweights
Anyone would kill to find one of these in their stockings.
Millenium-themed Coasters
Perfect for the vintage homeware specialist in your life.
Wood
Everybody craves a nice bit of wood at this time of year.

Say you'll be there, readers!
Say it. Please.
It'll be lonely without you.

Being & Annoyingness

Go on, pull an annoying face like Lucy.

Hello sumptuous readers.

Now, I do not know about you but it has often crossed my mind that when eventually asked (begged) to give a commencement address to the young women of North West Englandshire (no doubt the world will come clamouring for it too), what exactly would I say in said address? Well, since that invitation is getting closer and closer, I have chosen to give my speech a little more thought.

But first a brief update on my progress here, Stateside: I have been steadily working my way up the typography ranks and my superior, AKA future business partner Azelia Pitts, has even cleared out her filing cabinet so that it may act as my new office! While Pittsy is currently vacationing in Vermont, I have been hard at work on my new book, provisionally titled, How To Be A Boldface Wunderbitch In Three Easy Steps. Estimated publication date: 2017. Excited? You faffing well should be.

And so back to my first para; I have decided to direct my speech towards the young femmes of our nation because, because well I wanted to. That is the because.
Please find below a sneak preview of Mitzy's Commencement Address:

Be annoying.
Annoy everyone.
Cultivate the fine art of annoyingness.
Say annoying sentences.
Dance annoying dances.
Sing annoying choruses.
Pledge your allegiance to the High Council of Annoyerers.
Annoy anyone who says you can't be annoying.
Annoy anyone who says you shouldn't be annoying.
Annoy anyone who says you aren't good enough to be annoying.
Annoy. Annoy. Annoy.
And then annoy some more.

Got that? Good.
But what about my dear luscious reader(s) out there?
What advice would you give to the young ones? Do tell!

Toodlepip. Such a beautifully annoying word that one, isn't it?

The Imagination Game

Question: Is Mitzy

a) Back from the brink?
b) Back from the future?
c) Back for a bit?
Answer: c, you delectable clots!

Well hello, readers. Have you missed me? That's fine, I haven't missed you either for I have been extraordinarily busy doing lots of important, glamorous and extraordinary things here in NYC. You will be delighted to learn that my internship as an iced tea-making slave, I mean my internship as a typographical wunderkind, has been extended. But won't that mean...? Yes, I may not be coming back to Britannia until Royal Baby George has grown up into a fulsome figure of a man and contracted his first STD (the lice will arrive bearing the royal insignia so not to worry). In the meanwhile, and to satiate your insatiable Well Fan My Brow appetites, I promise to (never kept a promise in my life) blog occasionally (once in a blue moon) on any topic that happens to strike me as interesting (nuts).

So without further ado, let's get the feck on with the blog!

A concerned and imaginative soul from Blackburn, Lancs writes:

Mitzy,
When you see a spade, do you say: 'That there is a spade?' I would love to see a spade and call it a spade. But unfortunately due to suffering from an over-active imagination which has caused me un-told distress throughout my life, I simply cannot. I imagine wonderful things happening but then get extremely depressed when I realize they will never happen. Conversely, I imagine terrible things happening and then get extremely depressed because I am imagining terrible things happening. I would just like to see a spade, recognise that it is a spade, and call it a bloody spade. Anyway, have you heard of a brain drill known as the I.L. Op? The initials stand for Imagination Lobotomy. I feel that I would be a lot happier if I could just see spades for how they really are, Mitzy. What do you think?

Firstly, let me say that I do not always call a spade a spade. Sometimes I say its a shovel. Putting my flippantry to one side for a moment, concerned reader, let me ask you this: who is behind this 'brain drill' - Dr. Crippin? Dr. Tim Whatley? Dr. Spaceman? Secondly, do you really think that having no imagination is the secret to happiness? Actually, you could be onto something there; my great uncle Tobias was born without one and died with a very big smile on his face. Of course it could have been because he'd just been watching Stephanie Beacham in The Colby's before croaking it. He liked her in that. We all did. But I digress and so to answer your query bluntly: I think that to go through with this operation would be a very unimaginative move. Just take a look at the chap at the top of this post - how cool does the inside of his head look! I'd give my right ventricle for a brain like that. OK, so he doesn't look so happy but ach! Why be happy when you can have a noggin like that? You know it makes sense.*

See you in a bit, dreamy readers!

*My imagination ran out at this point and I struggled to imagine how to finish this reply more imaginatively. Sorry.