Well that was November and I have reinforced that if I say I’m going to do something, then I do it; or perhaps we could call it flogging a dead horse. For me the best thing about blogging was when I was doing it relatively anonymously and I didn’t know any of the people who were reading it. Of course, I need to remember that back in that day I was blogging on a platform that had a fantastic group of people using it and we fired each other up and the community element of it made blogging much more fun. I’ve made some great friends out of that but I don’t want all of them reading all of my stuff all of the time. Perhaps Google + will become something useful although I don’t know.
And I’m not as angry as I was then. I think some of the best blogging comes out of the worst things. That’s certainly true for me and I would say that my Swiss blog and one other that I wrote while I was there are probably the best things that I will ever do.
Although I don’t advertise this blog neither do I hide it and anyone who finds it can read it. That, I think, makes for pretty dull blogging. I can’t tell you about all the different relationships, the petty feuds, the interesting people and the utter lunatics that I meet. That for me is the stuff that interests me and I think it’s what interests other people. I don’t want to write a holiday/travel blog about Greece because I don’t have those talents: Azure, turquoise, blue, green, deep, shallow sea. Islands, beaches, tavernas and more pretty views. Look there’s a white church over there. Blah and more blah.
Far more interesting, I think, is writing about the guy (Russian, I think) who got so fed up of waiting for his souvlaki in our local cafe that he stood around shouting I fucking wait one hour for fucking food, they fucking here and they fucking eating fucking food. Fucking wrong. And he kept walking out and the waiters were being reasonable and he was fucking this and fucking that and I couldn’t see because I had my back to it and Mr T and our friend were doing the running commentary. Although I could hear that he wasn’t happy and that he’d got a more than solid grasp of varieties of using fucking. How proud his teacher must be.