Pork Scratchings

The blogger known as Piglet has closed down his site. For those of you who did not have the pleasure of his company, Piglet wrote an entertaining blog in which he described his sexual adventures. Now he is concerned that people are finding out his real identity, so the blog has to go.

Is it just me or was it obvious who Piglet was from the beginning? I thought everyone knew. However, just in case anyone in the Auckland blogging community is still in the dark, I will do my best to conceal his true identity. Using a cunning form of name substituton, I shall refer to the man behind piglet as Prescott Vine. This is the sort of pseudonym, after all, that would be adopted by an author of pornography, particularly in paperbacks published in the 1950s.

The details of Mr Vine's writing would be difficult to describe on a blog intended for all the family. Since this is not such a blog, I will do my best to recall the highlights. Mr Vine wrote lists, of women he had encountered. He didn't seem to have much regard for these women, which is a shame. He also wrote about a visit to a certain 'adult' club where, after various activities, he spilled something on his dress shirt; I would have kept that detail to myself, if I had been him. Mr Vine helpfully provided a guide to seduction as well, which did not involve Lust pizza, so far as I can recall. Interestingly, most of his adventures with women seemed to begin at Family, a gay club on K Road, which shows what you can achieve if you think outside the box, as it were.

I am sure he will be missed. What puzzles me is that Mr Vine thought he would be able to conceal his true identity. Apart from some obvious clues that would be noticed by anyone familiar with his other blogging, Mr Vine should have realised that anyone who writes blogs about his sex life will eventually be exposed. This happens because people want to know secrets, because they have a salacious interest in the sex lives of others and because former conquests do not take kindly to their indiscretions being described in detail.

Prescott Vine should also have realised his folly after the experiences of 'Abby Lee,' who writes a blog called Girl with a One-Track Mind (just in passing, I always seem to get involved with a girl with an eight-track mind, but that is my problem, not yours). Mr Vine links to Ms Lee's blog, so he should know about the consequences of sexual autobiography. Her mistake was agreeing to a publishing deal, so her 'confessions' migrated from the relative obscurity of the blogosphere to all good bookshops. She was soon exposed by a grubby tabloid newspaper, the Sunday Times, which used to investigate stories like Thalidomide. The story that outed her was entitled "By day she worked on Harry Potter. But by night ..." Make of that what you will.

In his farewell post, Mr Vine says "I don't want anything I've written here to be a distraction from anything I might do in future." A bit late to think that, you might say, but he is not alone: there is a generation of future political leaders who blog more or less graphically about their exploits, which may come back to haunt them.

I have just realised that I am beginning to sound like David Farrar, so I shall stop here.