Strange people

Andrew wonders why I'm shy of having my photo taken. Well, apart from the fact that despite his gallant assertions to the contrary I've seen about one picture of myself in the last decade that I didn't want to tear into little pieces and flush down the loo, what happens when you get pictures of yourself published all over the internets, is that strange people recognise you and come up to you in beer tents and engage you in conversation when you're just trying to have a nice quiet cup of tea ...

Interestingly (or perhaps not), when the idea was floated recently that as part of a move to civilize what we are pleased to call the blogosphere, people should refrain - or even perhaps be prevented - from posting anonymously, I was instinctively against it, even though I curl up in horror at the thought of upsetting anyone. Anonymity, or semi anonymity, can be and is abused, but it's also terrifically liberating. And let's face it, if someone says something horrid about you, does it really help to know who they are? (Unless you want to set the police on them, I suppose; let's hope it doesn't come to that in our little corner.)