Go West, (young man)

... there's gold in the YMCA

I, (insert name) Sopwith-Camel, hereby claim this blog (enter blog title here) What-goes-up, and all the characters who sail in it, greedily awaiting all sorts of good things that come to those who nail their colours to the Technorati mast in return for aiding them in their quest to be the masters of the blog-world and hopefully convince Google that it's an even bigger thing than YouTube and therefore worth the Moolah. Sing Ho! for the life of a Blog.

(Make your mark kere) Fires five-second burst from Vickers guns. Consider it marked.

Is that it? What happens next? When does the party start? It's OK, I can wait, I've got enough fuel to circle around for a while. It is, after all, my ninth month of bloggery, so signing up to an official blog-support vehicle is perhaps the best end to such a gestation period. Apart from a moody spell a couple of months ago, (Rolling rolling rolling, keep those rails rolling, rolling rolling rolling, Rawhide!), I've managed to convince myself that blogging really is the cyber-world equivalent to sliced bread. You can treat this as a letter of intent, this blog is soaring.

My title has been misunderstood by almost all who've read it, but never mind, it's a phrase that means many things to many folks, and we all know there's nowt so queer as folks, particularly those who think they know a proverb when they see one. But now I've claimed it I've settled all pending dispute: it means what I say it means.

I should also say 'thank you' to the foul-mouthed little angel of the cyberverse who first inspired me to get started. Yes, I admit it, I was tempted into it. But who hasn't been?

And so I go up once again; my mission, to ride upon the winds of wim and wander through the clouds of whimsy, looking down upon the flat absurdness of the ground.

Switches off! Blog-checks away! Contact!