7th post in a year, I bet you think you're pretty clever, don't ya boy?

So it's finally come to this. Six posts since this time last year. One every two months on average.

In truth, the only reason I'm back here is because some auto-spambot has been posting comments under my most recent (e.g, written last March) post and, faced with emails telling me that the twentieth attempt to do so in a couple of days had just taken place, I started to get increasingly downhearted that the site that had proven my mouthpiece to the world in the early days of broadband had just been abandoned to its fate.

Nothing to say cheerio, thanks for reading, see you later; just the virtual equivalent of an overgrown cottage down a country lane - with a table still set for dinner and a yellowing copy of a 1987 TV Times lying open at the day when it all stopped. Like it was supposed to continue, but mysteriously just... didn't.

This blog doesn't deserve that fate. Weirdly, I sort of view it as a bit of a friend - a constant companion to my life since 2006. Back then, I had just returned from a life-changing trip to Scandinavia. "Bit melodramatic", you might think, but whilst it's not quite in the league of a massive lottery win, that's what I think it was.

In the first half of that year I'd been spending my working days utterly miserable in a rubbish, mundane job; I was probably a bit depressed and when I wasn't at work or passed out in bed, I could be found down one of my local boozers, most probably the Prince Albert in Brixton (after work) or the Old Monk at Aldgate East (every lunch hour). I ended up in the doctor's surgery in February with all the signs of panic attacks, ascribed by an admittedly cold-faced GP as being a result of my hard drinking, heavy smoking, not sleeping lifestyle.

Bizarrely, it was a trip to Danish Rock festival Roskilde that summer that triggered a change in my perspective. Four days of genuine relaxation in the sunshine, away from my routine in London, followed - significantly - by a trip to Malmo to spend some time with other friends gave me pretty much my first time away from London (with the exception of trips home) in 3 years. In Sweden, I was over-whelmed by the lifestyle I observed; a mixture of controlled drinking and mass enjoyment of open air entertainment; gigs, the World Cup on the big screen, swimming in the Baltic. I resolved whilst watching a reggae concert one evening that I would sort myself out when I got back and stop wallowing in whatever rut I'd made for myself.

When I got back, I shocked my friends by turning up for a barbecue clutching a litre of fruit juice and a couple of bottles of beer for the entire evening. I shamelessly hijacked a friend's idea to run a 10K for charity and create a blog to encourage sponsorship - the evolution of which you read now. I, along with a great bunch of mates, made the absolute most of the long, hot summer of '06 by attending what seemed like a different music festival around London every weekend. And as summer slipped into a warm autumn, I ran that first 10K, and finally asked the barmaid from the Albert out on a date - almost justification of my 18 months of alcohol abuse watching her from afar.

I'm running my 9th 10K on Saturday (and have also completed 2 half marathons). I got engaged to Justyna ("the barmaid") in Santorini in May. In between these two events, unnoticed as yet by the blog, I've been to India with work, attended the 2012 Olympics and been promoted for the second time in 15 months.

The route from Malmo to here is largely encapsulated in the 948 posts on See That Tattie Run to date, and for that reason I owe it to myself to continue writing it - at least until I choose to call it a day. I have a lot to remind myself about in years to come - it's been a hell of a year so far, which ironically contributes to my lack of time to document it. I've no doubt that there will come a time where I go more than a year between updates; but I'd like to think that what started way back in July 2006 will keep going in some shape or form until I'm well into old age, and form a 'Who do you think you are'/'How I met your mother' (Google (or equivalent) them, readers from the future) for myself in my dotage and anyone else who happens to stop by.