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Apparently I am not funny enough.
Lovely Son thinks I focus too much on the serious side of life, contemplating my feelings, which are always miserable; he says this makes boring reading - no wonder I keep losing followers!
To him, I am like a Dementor with the internet. Or I’m like the friend who’s call you reject because you know they’re gonna moan on and on about how unlucky they are, while not listening to you, and then inviting themselves round to eat all of your food.
In fairness I would do the latter, but I would like to think of myself as a good listener. Not that I can listen to you, as this is written. Unless of course I know you. Or you send a message at the bottom of the page.
Lovely Son thinks I should shut up.
Or learn to tell jokes.
But I’m not sure this is meant to be that jokey. Don’t get me wrong; I love humour! I would love to be satirising the news - pointing out how typical it is that after millions of pounds of investment, we haven’t even got our Olympics website running well enough to sell tickets - if that isn’t running, what chance do our athletes have? With no ticket sales, at least there won’t be an audience to witness our humiliation.
Or that David Cameron is tackling the care problem in hospitals by expecting patients to carry out inspections. Apparently patients have been left without pain medication, and even sat in their faeces for too long! But how exactly is an ill patient meant to inspect the quality of their service? Surely they will be more focussed on getting better? Perhaps when they are better they will be asked to re-live the experience... Cameron might ask, “Were you left sat on your faeces for too long? How did that make you feel?”
“What is an appropriate amount of time to be left on your faeces anyway?”
Does he want them to do a round with a clipboard with their drip tagging along behind like a reluctant pet? Perhaps if they find something of which they don’t approve they could just do a sign by flashing their arse out of the flap of those strange tie-up nighties hospitals always make patients wear.
Actually, if I was Cameron (or at least if I just had his job) I would probably change those to something nicer, comfier, more discreet: M&S cotton PJs for instance. There’s never an unfortunate arse-exposing moment in those!
But I’m not here to write stand-up comedy; I’m here because I want to make my dreams come true - I order them at the counter, but I just keep being given my nightmares.
Plus, I keep accidentally getting in the long queue at the life’s-contentment till. In fact, each time I get close to the end they close my till and move me along again.
So this is not just a blog for you; it is also a blog for me. Although I obviously want you to keep reading. By publishing a mostly-open-and-honest-online-diary-type-thing, not only am I forced to see my words for real, but I am accountable for trying a bit harder; for being a bit braver; for making it happen. After all, you could call me on it.
I do want to make you laugh; I want you to love reading my work and to come back again and again... But I know I am not going to get to that place until I have levelled my track once more.
So this blog is the levelling. But I still hope it is enjoyable.
Is he being mean? I sure hope so!
The New Cinders
Check out other blog posts as well as her debut novel extracts!