A Gentle Reader writes, rather brusquely: "What is the point of your blog?"
I have to admit, this has rather thrown me for a loop. It's not enough to sit around appreciating, in no particular order, the splendiferous career of Dalida, the oddities of life in a petromonarchy, the glories of Bollywood masculine pulchritude (can there be masculine pulchritude? Does the male have its own separate word meaning "state of beauty"?), and whatever else comes to mind in the course of my dog-obsessed, trivia-savoring, peculiar life? Now, on top of all that, I have to have a point? Sheesh.
Apparently, for 1,398 posts, I have nattered on without one; I think it's probably too late to change. If I were absolutely pinned down and forced to declare a theme, I don't think I could top what I came up with back when it all began:
"A vague and jumbled set of fantods, mairzie-doats, and farthingales from someone who ought to know better." I ought to, but I don't, so here we are. And that, in the end, is the point, isn't it?