Winging it

I've had a bit of a tragedy. I've lost my list of Potential Subjects To Blog About. It should be just there, see? Next to my (enormous non flat screen) monitor. In the pile with compliment slips and new client enquiry forms and phone message pad similar shit that I need next to my pooter and phone. I've no idea how I can have lost it; it never moves more than six inches from its resting place.

So now not only do I have a bit of crisis (what crisis?) re what's the point of blogging generally but now I have to improvise for subject matter too.

Hmm.

I've just flicked back through my comments, looking for inspiration. For which thanks, obviously. However, I do kinda get the impression that some of you may actually be a bit worried about me. For goodness' sake don't. I am fine. I am optomistic, happy, content. I am also prone to depression but that's ok too, that's just me, I can cope with it.

I've been a bit knocked back lately in that my social life has had a big hole punched through it by someone leaving. I am far from the most important person in this situation but still, it's been weird and a bit disorientating not being able to do the usual on a Friday night any more.

But that's ok too. I am 40 and therefore officially Old Enough To Cope.

And just to prove it, here's my favourite joke of the moment:

An attractive young lady walks into a bar and asks for a double entendre. So the barman gives her one.

Thangyooandgoodnight. I'm here until Sunday.

Lazy fecker, or just confused?

Well, uh, hello. I'm here again. After a looong while.

I've worked out my trouble. With the blog thing, I mean, not with life generally - a mere blog is far too short to sort out that. Not that I want to come across as all whiny and needy and a mentalist, mind. But we've all got life problems, hey.

My trouble is I can't decide what I want it to be. The blog. And because of that it doesn't have a proper identity, a theme; a house style if you will.

Sometimes I just want to rant, usually about tv ads or stupid people or any of the almost infinite number of other things that drive me into a forehead-slapping frenzy. But surly does it better.

Sometimes I want to do a pithy, observational thing with a diary emphasis; just talking about my family and work and writing clever bon mots. But Greavsie has that one all tied up. In nice short sentences.

So, I could do a more accurate diary, with Named Friends about whom we gradually discover more and more things in a witty way. But, bugger it, JonnyB does that better than I could manage. And I'm not renovating a house, either.

I could go on. My writing style is quite convoluted, usually, with long sentences and lots of talking to myself in subclauses (am I doing that here? Not sure); a bit like this really. But not as much as anna, who does it much more and much better and for much longer and much more often.

And, much as I like off the wall commentary, about politics and media and daily life and tintenet, I couldn't possibly compete with Harry or Ivan. Both of whom make me laugh out loud, sometimes.

And now I'm worried that all the other blogpeople I like are going to be offended because I haven't singled them out. Please accept my grovelling apologies, but I just can't be arsed to type a href one more fucking time. Except for that one. Obviously.

So. I need a Style All Of My Own. I just don't know what it should be.

So we're going one way or the other - I'm going to give up blogging altogether, or maybe I'll experiment for a bit to see what I come up with. And if it's shite then I'll give up altogether.

Don't hold your breath.