I thought I’d found a clue in the Tobacco Factory – a trendy pub/café-bar/theatre in the Southville area of Bristol. ‘Aha! Here he is at last!” I said, upon spotting this sign:
I followed its arrow along corridors and through double-doors, fully confident that I would in some nook find the man himself tapping away at a laptop in consoling cowboy boots.
But alas, it was some sort of trick or red herring or diversion or prank, or else the Yard had fled before I got there, because after much walking I found nothing but benches, smokers and concrete slabs.
Blogdreaming, as we know, is one of the first signs of Blogmadness. This is where, in the words of Nige, one’s bodiless blog regulars become ‘shadowily present’ in one’s slumbers. But what happens when Bloggery, unbidden, begins to invade wakeful reality? Is it a tear in the fabric of The Matrix? Are these auguries, or auspices, or anything to do with the Ides of March (which I believe technically just refers to the 15th but which has, since Shakespeare, taken on an elusively sinister cultural significance)?
Imagine, if you can, the icy chill that gripped me as I pulled up on the pavement outside my house and saw this car number plate in front.