Something very strange is happening to me. I’ve discovered that I’m looking at life, events, everything, through the prism of blogging.
Buying a new book? Oh, that will look well if I decide to review it.
Planning a family event? What pictures should I take?
It’s not just me- the girls are running round taking pictures of everything they do, in case it turns into a blog post.
See? Domestic chaos. Your fault.
Nana and Grandad are staying- how will I tell them that we are splashed all over the internet for the world to find, yes, even Barack Obama if he were so minded. (Sure, what else has he got to be doing now?) Ah, turns out the girls told them. Of course they did.
Herself is delighted that I’m writing something, anything. She has mostly given up on me being a news broadcaster or a solicitor, but at least I’m putting myself ‘out there’ somehow. It’s taken a longer time than she’d have liked, but then I’ve never had her oomph.
What’s left to say about the day to dayness of my life? Am I going to bore even myself and stop writing? Why am I carrying a notebook everywhere? When did coffee in Starbucks become so angst filled?
Will I write about how a trip to town to save 30% turned out to cost a fortune because I stopped at a bookshop and then House of Fraser before getting a taxi home?
It seems that I’m now thinking of my life as a series of stories. Will that make it more interesting than it feels? What about that rule of psychology or somesuch that says that the act of observing something happening itself changes what happens? What else am I doing differently?
Do I need to stop rambling and write a nail varnish post? I don’t know anything about nail varnish…