So I’m driving around the country lanes, delivering my finished works of arts to my grateful clients. Carefully avoiding errant rabbits, spooked pheasants, loose dogs and people on bicycles (many lycra-clad middle aged men I notice. Perhaps they’ve decided they can pedal away the Christmas calories before Angela in account notices next week).
I’m 48 and do have a bottom drawer full of lycra for those rare moments when I announce to myself that a few dumbbell squats are in order (does the golf club gym still offer PAYG sessions) or fall in love again with Joe’s 90 day plan but manage to achieve only 13 (before deciding I ought to finish painting the landing instead) but I’ve discovered a new, til-now-untapped, area in my brain.
I’ve named it Blogland (not bogland as my keyboard momentarily offered me; so kind). In Blogland, I am awash with words. I am that beautiful woman in the 70s flake advert in a floaty white dress (I’ll google that shortly and find it for you because most of you are so young, you won’t even remember what a flake is, let alone the result of Cadbury’s PR advertising campaign). I swoosh around the cornfields, with a notepad in hand, writing poems and novels galore, people hoard to my book launches. The white floaty dress becomes an overnight sensation and Dorothy Perkins sells out of the nearest thing which looks vaguely similar at first glance from 20 yards away.
Blogland opened its squishy brain mass to me about six weeks ago and in it, I discovered something small and rather. A consequence. I dabbled with these scrawlings, encouraged by the God, WordPress, and found I could touch the magic word [Publish] and send ramblings on their way, bless their innocent hearts, into the world at large.
Admittedly some were never seen again and I had to dry my eyes and wave my hanky into the dingy depths of … can’t quite focus even now; ah yes… Boringborough. However, others came back on scooters and whizzed past my windows yelling “Look! I’ve made some friends – check me out!” before whooshing off again.
The consequence for me, having pressed the magic word, and seeing those prose make friends and connect with the world was … IS … happiness. And that, my friends, is what we strive to achieve some of the time. It would be ridiculous to expect to be happy during every waking hour … walking round with a Michael McIntyre grin on our faces while cleaning the bathtub of yet more grime (did I forget to show 17 year old son where the cleaner is kept?) would simply ache the cheeks.
Blogland provides me with material which I can type up on my phone or the keyboard miraculously not attached to the iMac. (All things technology I often find unfathomable but awesome, so just go with that). I have super dreadful (‘super’ appeared in 2017, don’t you think? My teenage children suddenly started using it. In front of every bloody word. “Its super cool, this app … “ “I’ve made you a coffee using a new brand. Watch out, its super hot right now though.” .. where was I? Ah yes, my dreadful ability to work out the technology side of things which would help my blog posts to actually arrive at the parties I dress them for.
I must actually pause and make a coffee; I like the sound of one. It will be a suitable temperature to drink, I assure you.
I shall continue with these ramblings another time .. do drop in and tell me if this post needs to go to Boringborough. I trust in fact it can stay in the ‘quite amusing actually’ category. Do let me know xx