It’s been a while since I hopped on here to post – something I’ve been anxiously aware of, and then feeling too anxious to sit down and write something because it’s been so long that I feel I must show up with a bang.

But actually, it’s my blog, and I can post when I want to the handful of readers who read it and my faithful army of spam bots who show up in every single one of my comments – thank goodness for moderated comments, otherwise I’d look like a sex-crazed casino lover who dabbles in Mandarin on the side.

It’s been a weird couple of months where I’ve been mouthing off on Twitter in response to some, quite frankly, huge news in my sporting world when I probably should have been trying to write something meaningful. But 140 characters take up a lot less mental energy than dedicating my time to putting together something that actually matters.

I started a new full-time job, something I’m very grateful for in the current climate and amid the rise of the 18-24 NEET crisis. That’s right, you’re looking at a PR Account Executive, baby! I can’t say I thought PR was where I’d end up just 3 months after graduating with a journalism degree, but I’m so fortunate to work for a lovely company, learn a lot of new skills and learn a great deal about very specific industries I never even knew existed before (quiz me on the analogue to digital switchover, I’m red hot).

I think now I’ve settled in at work, I’ve had a bit more time to think about my little sporting side-quests – ultimately, I’m my happiest self when I’m talking about Leeds Knights’ playoff win or arguing about who should be the England boss ahead of the rugby league world cup (Brian McDermott was the right call IMO, but I would like to see Paul Rowley take the helm eventually). It’s just such a huge part of my identity that I’ve let slide in favour of boring, adult things like buying a house or jetwashing the patio.

The rising sea of AI-generated slop on my timeline also made me fall out a bit with writing for pleasure, especially when said AI slop gets a good reception. Take a shot every time a club, player, or sporting body uses it, and you’ll be 90% ethanol within one scroll down Twitter. Anyone who makes a career of writing probably feels the same – you suddenly become hyper-aware of em dashes and start judging whether the person who used them actually knows what they mean, or whether they’ve just asked ChatGPT to write their Instagram bio.

Sure thing! Here’s a blog post in your sarcastic, personal style:

Just kidding.

And I’m not going to let my voice be outspoken by an algorithm that learnt how to communicate through reading reams of Sebastian Vettel x Mark Webber fanfiction.

This is all just a lot of words for me to say, “Hi again, I’m sorry I neglected contributing anything meaningful to any sporting conversations. I got overwhelmed with solicitors’ fees and being lost in a sea of AI-generated nonsense, but I’m back.”

So there it is.