Tis weird. I found Twitter and my attitude to blog has changed drastically.
Back in the Golden Days of 2002, the most attractive blogs were those that wrote well about day-to-day life, both the mundane routine and the little and larger thrills that make it worthwhile. I used to think that 'mundane' was derived from Monday.
I now almost totally avoid mentioning work, except in a very vague way that could apply to any workplace rather than to my specific workplace. I tend to avoid talking much about Government policy. There is limited mileage and the risk of repeating when one blogs about one's encounters with customer service. Generally, my journey to and from work or going out is smooth and trouble free. I do not believe it's fair to write too much about Jimmy, or indeed about recognisable other non-celebrity people, without their express permission.
I could write about the everyday activities of my life, which today have involved a trip to the hairdressers, a couple of loads of laundry and the best part of two hours hanging on an 0870 number to arrange an engineer to come out, hopefully to replace our Sky+ Box.
Carefully crafted words of observation, my thoughts when idly browsing magazines in WH Smiths as to why there are so many copies of Farmers Weekly, Horse and Hound and World of Yachts in Streatham, an urban in-land town. Thoughts about the people that use the buses, or worries about the 'landscaped garden' being developed directly outside our living room window.
I could write about my sexual fantasies, or I could write at length about my manifesto for a Better Britain. I have various mini-series ongoing. But my sexual fantasies are better written in fountain pen in a glistening notebook. The more I reflect on politics, the more I realise there are no easy solutions. Last week at work, reading through my meeting notes from before Christmas, I thought 'but wouldn't it be easier if the government did this', before remembering that is exactly what is happening. Possibly that thought is worth expanding, some kind of understanding analysis of how to juggle three balls and a banana whilst riding a unicycle and flame-eating whilst singing along to four-part harmonies. A chap I did my professional studies with used to ride to college from his digs on his unicycle. He also juggled. Often he juggled whilst riding his unicycle. But never in Financial Accounting lectures.
I'm going through a period of regrets about choices I have made or efforts I have failed to take throughout my adult life. I think it might be because I am less than thirteen months away from being forty and I have singularly failed to fulfil any of my potential in life. Perhaps I burned out at 16. I no longer want professional or political success, but I want something that is stimulating and interesting. I expect what would fulfil me would be a move into a policy role in my own department. But a level transfer would mean a significant pay cut. Decisions decisions.
I'm nearly forty. In twenty one years I'll get my bus-pass and winter fuel allowance (Jimmy gets his next year...sssh I didn't tell you that). Twenty one years ago I was just about to become an adult. I am not where I hoped or expected to be, and yet, I am happy. I feel guilty that I am happy, and I can't work out why. Content and at peace, I think. Although becoming increasingly exasperated by my inability to get my arse into gear and get round tuit.
Life is puzzling.
