May I take your cloak?

There are bloggers out there – nobler, wiser bloggers than I, no doubt – who evince no interest in their blog stats. Either they switch them off, or they merely peek once in a while.

I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the type of person who doesn’t ask the baby’s sex during the 20 week scan; that never hunted for their Christmas presents early (hint to any 8 year olds that may be reading: try the top of the wardrobe, but then be prepared to school your face into a suitably surprised ‘Wow!’ expression on Christmas Day, unless you want to break your mother’s heart. Oh, and close your eyes whenever I write Fuck, yes?) and can keep a travel pack of sweets in the car for more than 2 days without scarfing the lot.

I, on the other hand, am narcissistic enough to be hugely interested in blog stats. Fascinated simply doesn’t cover it. Part of the charm is that I’m still reeling with delight that anyone would want to read this discombobulated morass of uterine anomaly, parental angst, feral parentheses and barbarous use of hyphenations in the first place. I applaud your… something. Whatever it is you have that keeps you here. Stoicism, possibly. 

(I thank you profusely, too, particularly for your comments, because the conversation therein keeps this blogger going some days.)

The actual number of readers doesn’t interest me so much, it’s how they arrive here. My WordPress stats page lists all the search engine referral terms, as well as links from other blogs and it’s usually quite straightforward to work out whom has come from where, and why – and if you can’t, then your clever chums can do it for you.

Sitemeter is playing silly buggers  – I have obviously set it up wrong – and will tell me nothing. (Sitemeter, in fact, says I have no readers at all, and you are all therefore a figment of my imagination.) I know little about what happens once readers arrive here, but occasionally I do achieve enlightenment. The one day I had had, at half-past midnight, a total of 4 visitors to my blog. 3 of them had arrived using the ubiquitous ‘hairy porn’ search term. One new arrival promptly took his semi elsewhere as fast as his mouse could take him (or… her?), but, undeterred by the obvious absence of explicit bent-over-a-straw-bale action, 2 of the new arrivals had conquered their aroused state sufficiently to read ‘About HFF Wifey’, and one of them was evidently so not in the mood that night that s/he then proceeded to have a wander through the tangled verbiage I call my archives. I was unsure whether to be perturbed or flattered.

This last month has piqued my curiosity even more. I am receiving increasing numbers of search terms for ‘hairy farmer family’ or hairy farmer family blog’. Yesterday, for instance, I had 10. So far today I’ve had 6.

Now, if I ever wanted to conceal my electronic tracks, I would simply google the name of the site I wanted to visit, which is what I think may be occurring. I hasten to assure you, I never generally feel a need to do this, being a little too busy these days to treat stalking as much more than an occasional hobby. 

Lurker by you.

A few possibilities have occurred to me. Family. The puzzlingly poisonous child-free. Friends. That sort of thing. I’m not too bothered who it is, exactly, as I have deliberately written, (since my Arrrghhh! Outed! wobble) as if all three of those categories were reading, but I’m really quite curious to know who you are, nevertheless.

Come forth and show yourself, do! It’s DEMOGRAPHIC TIME for the Hairy Farmer Family Blog.

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