On my walking bus-run to school, I overheard one of the littlies behind me say to her walking partner: "The Queen is coming to our school today."
Her friend scornfully replied, : "Pfft, don't be so silly, no she isn't, she's in London and very busy!!!"
Girl 1: "Busy doing what?"
Girl 2, (deadpan): "Ruling the world."
Something has dawned on me.
Blogging suits me more than other forms of social media for the following reason: It suits people who like to rant on a bit, air their woes, rail against the world (and, quite frankly, some of the annoying people who live in it), protest about personal injustice, injury (or a bit of a cold), without having people listen / read, nod /click 'like' and then proceed tell you their bloody story!
I understand that the 'exchange of stories' concept makes up the essential elements of 'conversation'; one person says something and then another responds. However, why is it that when you share that you've got a headache, someone else has a 'migraine', when you've been to Brid, they've been to Bali, when your kid has scored a goal, they know somebody, who knows somebody who knows somebody who works for Richard Branson? Yes, even totally unrelated one-upmanship!
Then there's the opposite direction, where you one-downmanship someone in the vein of the Monty Python's Four Yorkshiremen (Google it if you've under 40).
Non-blog forms of social media are OK for having a random moan (or show off) but there's that sneaky 'comment' button which means people just can't resist having their two-penneth.
Thus, the best thing about blogging is being able to show off, whinge, moan and be opinionated at will, and nobody gets to reply!!! (OK, thank you so much voice in head for pointing out that nobody actually reads my blog and therefore I whingeth in vain but, hey, you're talking to someone who believes passionately in the cathartic powers of putting fingers to keyboard so shut up voice in head!!)
So, to write an (allegedly) humorous blog, one needs inspiration of a humorous nature and with the passing of my father in January, funnily enough, life hasn't been a barrel of laughs recently.
It's been quite the opposite actually and I seem to be swirling around in a pit of general down-ness and therefore blog inspiration has been lacking.
Low mental health tends to send me in the direction of the doctors where I have a penchant for self-diagnosis and tend to walk in, sit down, gabble out my symptoms, suggest a cause and cure and write my own prescription before they can even ask me to take a seat.
So for want of humour, I'll self-style a 80s Crack-a-Joke Book opener 'the other day I went to the doctor......'
And I said, 'doctor, I think I've got a malignant tumour (whisper) down below' (I'm British, avoiding genital terminology at all costs is what we do best).
Turns out it was an ingrowing hair. Ba dum tss!
A tingling left arm, pins and needles in my hand and shortness of breath turned out not to be, as predicted following in my father's footsteps of a mid-life stroke and is in fact, an anxiety attack. Who would have thought? Well, clearly a qualified medical professional, rather than a Box Office Assistant. I'll stick to the day job.
Speaking of learning a new life-skill, such as DIY medicine, Teddy (The Teenager) was asking me about driving lessons the other day.
"Mum, when you're having driving lessons, do you need to have an instructor with you?"
"Yes darling, why?" (ask a silly question)
"So if you want to go to the shops you have to call the instructor and ask him to go with you?"
Teenagers have selective hearing at the best of time but here was a peach.
Me: "Teddy!!!" shouting through the ever-closed bedroom door, "there's some post with your name on it."
Teddy: "Eh, toast with my name on it?"
- Yes Teddy, I turned into Tony Hart (or for a younger audience, the Art Ninja) and skilfully carved your name into the jam.
I find soap and water is a good remedy for such hearing issues.
