Rax is a recovering alcoholic with Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Having lost everything due to alcoholism, he’s now in the process of rebuilding his life from scratch in a spirit of acceptance and optimism for the future. Writing creatively is one of the things that vanished from his life when drink took over, and he finds great joy at welcoming it back home. He’s a lifelong supporter of Tottenham Hotspur FC, which has possibly traumatised him more than anything else. He’s also attempting to grow some ridiculously hot chillies, none of which he’ll be brave enough to eat.
Whilst pretty much everyone uses the web in some form or another these days, I class myself as an early adopter. I was one of those that ventured into internet cafes back in the ‘90s. I remember the pre-Google dark ages, when web directories were the primary way of finding information, and ownership of a MySpace page was regarded as the height of tech prowess. People would present me with problems and ask me to ‘look it up on the internet’ for them. My first home net connection was via one of those free trial AOL dial up discs. Images would take half an hour to load, and then freeze as they got just below her shoulders. Information was shared via IRC. We used anonymous handles and guarded our IRL identities closely. I still usually do, in fact – the more recent trend towards connecting every aspect of online and offline selves baffles me. For a long time I spent more time with interesting online friends on a moderately well known web forum, than the people in meatspace that I really had nothing much in common with.
Then the web exploded, everyone and their nan had a Facebook page, some bloke ran across Richmond Park after his dog, and Wikipedia was officially recognised as an independent lifeform when it gained sentience and introduced itself as ‘Hal’.
To be honest, I still harbour a lingering resentment at all these n00bs encroaching on my intermaweb. Half of them don’t even realise it’s a series of tubes.
But even after all this time, I’ve realised that there are still no blogs written by jaded left-wing recovering alcoholics with Generalised Anxiety Disorder who support Spurs and have a crap sense of humour.
I know. I was amazed as well.
So it’s my duty – nay, my honour – to fill that niche.
Hey, you’re welcome.
Circumstances Allowing 