The Dark Blost Rises

I have arisen from the ashes, been reborn, and from the dust shall I grow wings again. I've clung to the bottle for a long while now as though in a dream and meanwhile the simple realities of day-to-day life have left me without a home, without a beloved, without a career, without money, without half a front tooth, without a laptop, and even without sport during Olympic sanctum no less. I am bashing away on an old Sony that someone kindly donated to me, however the c and f keys take some thumping. So too, I'm discovering, does the spacebar, so if you see any fors come out as ors you'll have to bare with me. I suspect I'm not alone in feeling summarily kicked in the rear by the Olympics, not only to dive back in the pool, but to get on and do something with my life, which almost came out as do something with my lie, which also works. On that point I'd like once again to publicly thank all those who sent me messages of support before, during, and after my competition in Sheffield. At the time I billed that swim as my last, but I can't let it fall; it's too great a part of my life, which nearly came out as too great a part of my lie, which again also works. While I'm still getting wiser, faster, bring it on. Courtesy of JP I bagged a ticket for the Aquatic Center to watch Addlington barely let the 400m freestyle title fall from her around her neck, and see one of the sport's greatest races, the 4x100 freestyle relay play out as though for a fairytale. I saw Ryan Lochte a couple of times in London nightclubs after the event and his shoulders slumped like the heads of new-born babies. Incidentally, as a rule they didn't let me in. Welcome home.