Sunday, 19 September 2010

Careful now

Another week without a post. Oh dear.  I was lying in bed this morning, wide awake at 0700, listening to the alternating rumble of huge lorries heading for the coast and the deep, penetrating barking of next door's dogs, pondering why this happened.

I mean I was pondering.  I don't think the dogs do much pondering.  Is it lack of material?  That's never stopped me before, admittedly. 

Lack of time?  Yes, possibly.  I am spending far longer than I used to at work, I don't post on here while I am in the office (which I did sometimes times when I worked locally, and had "proper" lunch breaks) and I find the hit-and-miss posting from an iPhone on the train too annoying.  I have, on a few occasions, drafted a post which I thought was mildly amusing, tried to upload it and lost it completely.  It's probably got more to do with my technical ineptitude and an intermittent 3G connection than with my iPhone deliberately trying to sabotage me, but even so, it pissed me right off. 

Lack of inspiration?  Yes, at times.  Sometimes I have a brilliant, yes, I said it, brilliant idea for a blog post, but by the time I get home and onto my PC, the initial excitement has faded and I end up with yet another "What I did on my holidays" style post.  Not satisfactory.

Lack of enthusiasm?  Hmm, yes.  When I do sit down to write a post, I enjoy doing it.  I tend to bash it out in one go, check for obvious spelling mistakes and then press the "fire and forget" button.  I don't make heavy weather of it, once I get on with it.  It's the getting round to doing it that makes me go "hurrr" and wave my arms about like Kevin the Teenager.  Procrastination and all that.  I have been thinking about what to do about it, and other than taking a break from blogging to recharge my creative batteries, I can't really come up with any suggestions.  And, when all's said and done, a week without a post is a little break, I suppose. 

I don't fancy making a slightly drama-queeny "I'm stopping blogging for a while" announcement, because that seems to be asking for people to comment and tell you how much they love your work, or how much they'd miss you, or that reading your blog is the only thing that drags them back from the abyss of despair on a regular basis, much like a child threatening to run away from home just so that someone will stop them.   

Anyway, I love the fact that people I don't even know read this, and sometimes they bother to comment.  It really does make my day when I get a comment or two, and I like knowing that other people are enjoying the stuff that comes out of my head.  And, when I started blogging it was just for me, so it oughtn't to matter how often I post, really.

Was there a point to this?  I can't remember. 

Other news:  My cold is better, my ankle is mending nicely, and work is still interesting.

The physiotherapist told me this week that my ankle WAS fractured after all.  She can tell that because when she put the ultrasound thingy on it, I went "Gaaahhhhhhhhh!"  This week she had turned it up on high power, so it hurt.  Last week it was on low power, and didn't.  So, it turns out that when I fell over, I broke my ankle, damaged most of the ligaments in my foot AND made a fool of myself.  Now that's what I call falling over.  I make sure I get my money's worth, me.

Oh, and I didn't see the Pope.  I saw all the crash barriers, and the stage they put up outside Westminster Cathedral, but no pontiff.  Plus I had to get the Tube to Waterloo on Friday as my bus was cancelled in honour of his visit, or something.  This is why religion causes wars.

Is it just me, or did anyone else keep having Father Ted flashbacks every time the Pope was on TV?



Mrs Jones said...

I've kind of suspected for quite some time now that you are, in actual fact, me in an alternative universe and this just confirms it. I could have written this word for word (well, not the broken ankle bit, you're welcome to that...) and very nearly have. I mean, there were some pics you posted somewhere or other with your new haircut and I thought there was a passing resemblance, you live in Wiltshire and I've always wanted to live there plus you play the guitar and I now play the ukulele - spooky, non?

Isabella Golightly said...

I'm actually quite sure you're me, I play the comb in a tissue, and I'm running away from home if you stop blogging. Now get on your knees and genuflect.

Bender's Better Brother said...

Popes, overrated. All of them.

You missed nothing.