Archive for April, 2006

Does it have to have a title?

I've only been writing this blog for about a week and a half but I'm already thinking about how I can get a Bloggie award. I've had a look at the competition and that's put me off a bit but not totally. I think I'll have to step up my posts to stand any chance. I don't think they'll give you a Bloggie if you only have about a dozen or so posts. Most of the blogs I've checked out have hundreds of posts, at least.

 It must be a strain for them, after they get their Bloggie, having to keep making posts, knowing people are expecting something from them. The blog might seem like a big monster, living in their computer, always having to be fed. But even this does not put me off. I'll have to get over my writer's block, though. On three occasions since I've started this thing, I've sat down to write but had to go away again, as I could not think of anything to write. Lists seem to be a way to out of this dilemma, so I might go with that. I'll probably have to think of a theme too — it might be something to do with fashion but I'm not sure yet. I don't want to write too much about my personal life, as I don't want to attract stalkers.

The thing that really puts me off blogging is that everyone seems to run out of steam after a while (this is really worrying, as I do not have too much steam to start off with). Take Eric at little.yellow.different. I've just discovered him and now he seems all ready to quit. The guy is a genius and I think he should be forced to keep going, even if he has some personal problems. He should have a look at little.red.boat. (what is it with. all.those.full.stops.?). She doesn't even care if she's nothing interesting to write about and just writes any old shite. I plan to copy her and just write about the first thing that comes into my head. About what people do on buses and things like that. We all know that there's nought so queer as folk and if I just concentrate on looking out for weird and annoying people then I should never be stuck for a post.

But having thought about that there might be a bit of a problem as I work from home and sometimes I'm stuck here for four or five days on a trot. I could write about the people I live with but they've found out I'm doing a blog and made me promise I won't write about them. A solution to that is not to mention my blog for a while so they will forget about the promise, and, in addition, I could go out to the local supermarket every few days and I'm bound to find something there that I could cobble into a half-way decent post.

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Lost in Paris

Went to Paris. Got lost (again). The person I was with bought lots of shoes and I bought two bags. I would have bought more but my Visa wouldn’t work in any of the shops (much embarrassment). Our hotel was in the 7th arrondissement — the most boring area in Paris. Never stay there.

We developed a weight fixation while we were there because all of the younger women in Paris are a size ten, maximum. Even if my credit card had worked I could not have bought any clothes because everything was too small — and I’m only a size twelve. The person I was with (I’m going for a ‘no-names’ policy here, for the time being) was on the verge of tears half the time because she is a size fourteen and was practically laughed out of shops when she attemped to try things on. I consoled her by pointing out that all French women are flat-chested (true) and that we would have the advantage in the summer/tight tee-shirt months. We ate cakes to celebrate this fact.

Contrary to popular belief, the French hardly drink. There’s a lot of wine kicking around but they take about an hour to drink half a glass. We had guzzled down three Jack Daniels/G&T’s in about an hour (using some self-control, as we didn’t want to give the impression of being a couple of lushes) but were too embarrassed to order any more as everyone else was still on their first glass of wine.

The older women in Paris have terrible dress-sense (apart from the very rich ones). Their taste in clothes is very conservative and dull. The younger one are also dull and safe but they get away with it because they are so skinny. French women do get fat but only when they hit about forty-something (again, not the rich ones). The reason we were so obsessed by women and their clothes is because, next to the establishment of World Peace and the Eradication of Poverty, clothes/fashion/style is a matter very close to our hearts.

We got lost every day when we tried to find our way back to our hotel. Even taxi drivers couldn’t find it. One day we spend five hours trying to find our way back to the hotel. We think this is because our sub-conscious blocked out the route as part of a protective mechanism (because we despised the place so much). Next time we are going to learn to read maps before we go anywhere. We had three maps with us but they might as well have been blank paper for all the good they did us.

We also tried out one of those ‘hole-in-the-ground’ toilets while we were there. We had to dare each other to do it but in the end we had no choice as we were on a no food/high-water diet for two days (trying to get skinny, so we could buy something) and there were no other facilities around (it was at one of the ‘flea markets’). The person that used it before us obviously had a dicky tum and a bad aim but we managed to use it without catching anything. We both admitted later that we were kind of hoping to get some sort of stomach bug so we could lose some flab.

We spend a vast amount of Euros at the market and then had to cart all the bags about with us for the rest of the day. This is because we didn’t want to go back to our hotel as the place was not only depressing but the manager looked at us as if we were two sewer-rats. It’s his fault that we left the bags on the metro and never saw them again. We’re going to write to Tripadvisor to complain about him.

When we got home we kept trying to speak in French to everyone in the house. This goes to show that we lack sophistication and that we don’t get out much.

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Day Two

I wonder how many people quit their blog on day two. It’s the pressure of it all. You’ve started a blog, so now you’ve got to attend to it — write something on a regular basis. What percentage of blog posts consist of apologies for not posting for a while and how many minutes/hours of a blogger’s day is used-up trying to think up something to blog about? And why does the spellchecker not recognize the word ‘blog’. Yes, it’s tough in the field.

All this soul-searching comes down to the fact that I’m a worrier. I worry about everything and worry about worrying.  Such a heavy burden on such frail shoulders. Watching the News doesn’t help. This is when I think our forefathers had it easy. Granted, they had the Plague and suchlike but the very fact that they rarely made it past the age of thirty meant that the word wrinkle probably hadn’t even been invented then — so even if they did worry, they would be unaware of the effects of stress on complexion. So that’s one of the reasons it was called The Good Old Days.

And housework. They probably did very little of that either. Not that any men have ever indulged in such an activity. Now, don’t you accuse me of sexism here, because you know it’s true. Anyway, don’t you know that Political Correctness Has Gone Mad. Don’t you watch the News?

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Hello world!

To say something profound or to start as I mean to go on? As I've just kind of accidentally stumbled onto this whole WordPress thing I've not had time to give it much thought. Just trying to get used to the spellchecker, as it will be my constant companion in the coming decades. Yes – I'm thinking long-term here. I'll be rattling out this garbage carefully crafted prose for many a long year, so don't say you haven't been warned.

It is, in fact, a near-miracle that I can string even half a thought together as I've been sleepless for about two days. And yes, I may return to the subject of insomnia on the odd occasion. But you will probably be too busy snoozing to join me on any real-time commentary on that sorry subject.

I will return anon. And may never leave your side again.

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