Six?

Just checked the site meter, and six of you have read househusbandnot since yesterday. Six? Six? I know it is about to be a bank holiday here in the UK, and that some of you may have lost interest since I failed over the last few weeks to post every week day. But six? The guys who leave their mobile phone numbers scrawled on public loo doors get more responses than that? Paul Burrel has more friends than that. Six is not even near 10, or anywhere near the respectable number of visitors I normally get here at hhn. Six? I should not have bothered even getting out of bed to blog yesterday. I am deeply insulted, and sad because a lot of this is of my own making not blogging every day, which is how the number of visitors was gradually increasing. Six? It only just shows up on the bar chart graphic for the site meter. Six? I almost have that many siblings. (And surely Madame B checks hhn a few more times than that during the day?) Six is fewer than the pieces of sushi you get from Pret A Manger. Six could be scored with the flick of an artful wrist in cricket. Six pence buys you nothing. Six lengths of the pool? I think it would take about three minutes. Six reward points in Cafe Nero doesn't even get you that close to your free reward coffee. Six? Not even one a week. Six is only two more than the number of Prince tickets I have. Six is very very sad (somehow sadder than none or one or five). Was it the holiday snaps that put you off? (I was trying to be ironic btw.) Was it the complaining about nothing to write about? (An entirely valid reason for switching off from hhn I grant you.) Was it something I said/didn't say? I guess I will never know because you have abandoned me to more worthwhile web pursuits. Good luck with Googling yourself and trying to avoid buying Viagra and reading stuff other than hhn. (Six? I am going to go and eat six muffins to console myself.)

I will return next week, and will look forward to talking to all remaining SIX of you.