Who’d have thought I would ever stick at this blogging lark so long that I would write a thousand posts?

More importantly, who’d have thought I’d use an exclamation mark in a headline like that? It’s like working at a very cheap newspaper. This is a very special occasion though, so if ever a post warranted an exclamation of any kind then this is it.

One thousand posts.

*heavy sigh as though I have literally just written them all right then and now need a jolly good rest*

How many words do you reckon I write in average in a post? (Definitely something I should know rather than you, unless you count, which is weird.)

400 maybe? 500 if I’m being generous? That would be half a million words, which is officially A LOT OF WORDS. Just to put that into some sort of perspective, that’s enough words to fill 17 Olympic sized swimming pools or two and a half football stadiums. If you laid all of those words out next to each other they would cover an area roughly the size of Wales.*

Also, the average mystery novel is around 80,000 words, so I written the equivalent of five or six books**. I am basically Agatha Christie.*** View Post

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Put the pressure on a bit.

Tell them that you work in social media and that the last time you had a smear test you blogged about how long it took a different nurse to find your elusive cervix.

The nurse I saw yesterday was in and out before I even had time to ask for her number.

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This week I had a smear test, an event that is surely the highlight of any woman’s calendar? Working from home, I don’t get out much, so when I do I make the most of it, changing into proper clothes, brushing my hair and everything.

“You look nice!” said the nurse as I walked into the room and she ominously locked the door behind me.

“Thanks,” I replied, “I like to make an effort for a smear test.”

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OK, I admit it! I’m a terrible mummy! I’ve been too busy working to even notice my poor baby lying unattended and unloved in a quiet corner of the study. For a while it whimpered quietly, hoping to attract my attention, but eventually it gave up, the tears dried on its cheeks, and it fell silent…

I’m not talking about my real children of course, don’t call Social Services, they are used to a bit of healthy neglect. It’s good for them. It teaches them to be independent.

I’m talking of course about my blog.

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