There was, just deleted, a long woe is me post typed in this box, detailing how Im so BUSY and cant get internet because all telecommunications companies are FUCKWADS and boohoo Im so TIRED and everythings so STRESSFUL and Oh GOD its my birthday next month and I should do some kind of writing blog-project to build up to it and oh NO I dont have time and isnt my life TERRIBLE and arent I am BAD and DISAPPOINTING to you all for not blogging often enough and should I just go on HIATUS etc etc etc
And then I deleted it.
Because seriously, who gives a crap? You dont need to read that.
I am not writing very often. I am sorry. It is situations, as is commonly spouted at me by train companies, beyond our control.
But I will be better to you again when I am less busy and have internet. I have no idea when that might be. Because all Internet Service Providers are twunts.
SO. In the meantime. What can I tell you?
I can tell you that two years ago I was writing about wanking in front of horse racing
I might mention that in my freelance work this week I have been mainly concentrating on making EMO-kids and other My Chemical Romance fans deeply unhappy.
Oh, and writing about whats happening on television (mainly The Apprentice) while its happening. Minute by minute.
Two years ago at work, meanwhile, I was doing a Minute-by-minute of the Royal Wedding. On television. I think it may be called carving yourself a little niche. And refusing to budge. Or something.
Five years ago on this site, I was writing about 21 things Id learnt over the previous few days. Which I may do again, come to think of it.
For example yesterday I learnt that if you drip melted gorgonzola on your thigh and waistband and not notice for a few hours, it goes white, and stains, and flakes a little bit and looks a bit dodgy, if you know what I mean. You know, like man-juice.
Oh sod. That was mean to be suggestive, and now its just smutty.
And three years ago I was detailing both my theory of predisastering and the fact I was too busy to write and was very apologetic about that. How familiar.
And now I want to go and read all my archives for inspiration.
I *used* to have things to write about, damnit.
But then, I used to have internet, too.
This morning I was sitting on a train with a mother of about 60 and her daughter, of about 30. Both referred to the formers husband and the latters father as daddy. Ive never understood that. Like as soon as you have children, you lose your names and start referring to each other as Daddy and Mummy.
Daddy will come and pick me up later.
Oh! Daddy just texted!
Oh really? What did Daddy say?
Not your daddy but just daddy, and they both used it. Not just the daughter, which mightnt have been quite so weird, but the mother, too. Or Mummy as shed probably preer us to call her. Mummy. With a husband called Daddy as name and whole identity.
I dont know, maybe just because its never something my family did (or in fact would ever have done) its a practice that has always just sounded very, very odd to my ears.
Also they were very annoying.
Also my train was delayed. Dogs on the line.