I’m looking at my visitor logs again — and I should repeat this. I’ve said it before, somewhere here, but some of you probably didn’t see it: I can’t see WHO you are. Nor your home address. I can only see your city, state or province if applicable, and country — and still no Scotland, or almost none. This is so strange. I doubt all my previous Scottish visitors would have changed over to anonymous proxies. It could be that some have visited so often that some kind of cookie has kicked in and they just don’t trigger the counter anymore. I don’t really know how all that works. I know bits and pieces but not enough to form a coherent conceptual whole.
But I’m getting a lot from England. Which is even stranger. I have never not gotten visitors from England, but used to be I’d hear about as often from England as I heard from Scotland, and sometimes I’d hear significantly less often. But now as far as UK visitors go, it’s just about all England. One day recently, and I mentioned this at the time, I noted that I’d gotten way more visits than normal from London. Rory’s agent is based there and he probably pops in to them now and again for meetings and to pick up mail, so you understand why I was a little weirded out.
I wonder about that, actually. Is the big man working in England again, and that’s why I get England hits? Like, people see him in public and then decide to google him* and here they come? Is he visiting here himself? I don’t dare hope for that one. I’ve let things get sloppy here. The mind boggles, though!
There isn’t any way anyone could answer these questions in a manner I would trust. I will just have to wonder. Frowny face.
I will admit, I left it an open question as to whether I would ever set up a contact method here. I’ve thought about it. Like, one email address for fan pics, another for questions, that kind of thing. I don’t really want to, or I’d have done it already. Like, part of me is curious what would happen, but most of me doesn’t want to deal with the drama which inevitably would tag along for the ride. People just don’t know how to enjoy things anymore, they’ve always got to shit in someone else’s punch bowl. I’m not interested. I’ve had enough drama the past two years to last me the rest of my life. I just want to have fun now. I also have to work, and I’m not at my best at work if I’m stressed out. So there’s that.
Anyway, those of you who really wanted to get in touch with me figured out how to do it. I don’t always see your emails timely because for some reason they get shunted off into my junk-mail inbox, but I’ve seen a few. Even Emily pops in now and again to catch up, so that’s nice.
Okay. I did absolutely fuck-all yesterday, and I can’t do that today because I need a haircut and a bit of grocery shopping. (WOW it is weird to say that.) I will try and make myself work on this tonight, because I’ve put it off long enough. I think I’m mostly afraid I won’t get it finished, even though by its nature it can’t be finished under present circumstances. I’d elaborate, but that’s really fucking morbid, so we’ll just leave it alone. But I’m not good at putting something down and then coming back to it later, is my point. I should just get the fuck over that. Site needs work. The end.
 Oh hey! I have found something interesting. Independent confirmation of a few things I had been wondering about. Rory’s birth time and middle name and birthplace — and it wasn’t in Glasgow, though close enough and he did grow up in the big city. But look here and here. You’re welcome. I will incorporate them as sources later. Hey, you who mentioned to me he was sighted in Paisley. What do you want to bet his mom lives there and he was visiting? Her or other family, or possibly old schoolmates he’s still in touch with. He may be an introvert, but he values his relationships from what I’ve seen.
Okay, really gotta go now.
*I just checked… and I’m on the first page of search results!!! Well below his Emptage Hallett listing, which is sensible — but, I’m pleased to note, a few entries ahead of that fan-fiction romance about him. Just… don’t ask. Yes I read it. Ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back.