Hello - is anybody there? Surely not - not "listening" to me. I'm one of those people who nobody listens to, generally. (Are you such a one?) Normally I converse with total self-confidence, safe in the knowledge that, whatever I say, it won't be heard, it's just a bit of noise filling the gaps for breath in other people's outpourings (though I've met people who can actually talk while breathing in too). I can say anything - I've tried it "griddle biddle og fat nush psu on the gret - tomorrow". Never turns a hair when aimed at the most loquacious - the sort that see me coming from a mile off. They walk away completely relieved after their outpouring with no memory, a minute later, of who they've just drowned with blather.
But. perversely, when I do get going in conversation and suddenly find that the other party(s) show signs of actually listening to what I'm saying I get all self conscious and flustered, lose my thread and become embarrassed. Surely, I can't be saying something interesting. Panic! Quickly get them talking again, "you were saying - about your polished granite work surfaces". Safe - inconspicuous once more. "Oggle spoggy woggy dret - innit..."
This, I imagine, is where blogging comes in. I can have the illusion of talking to someone and it doesn't matter if they listen to me or not. They can't interrupt me nor bore me nor show alarming flashes of apparent interest in what I'm saying. Nor can they stare at the renegade long black hair protruding from my nostril or the patches of scalp I've failed to cover despite my careful comb-over. In fact, there's probably nobody there at all. Unless it's a billion other bloggers all waiting vainly for someone to respond to their hearts' outpourings.
But in case there is... Hi I'm Sadold. Which of course is not my real name. My full not-my-real-name is Sadold Geezer. Like you, I live in cyber space, my patch being somewhere over Scunthorpe - a two-MacDonald's, four-supermarket town with the best Division 1 football team in North Lincolnshire. I'm a retired Engineer in my late sixties, scarred for life by juvenile exposure to Tommy Steel, Bill Haley, Elvis Presley and, most likely, Atom Bomb tests. I have a wife (my second) whose grand passion - now - is to make cards (crafting). Between us we have four children and seven grandchildren, the five remaining in the UK being under eight -all of whom believe that I am under eight too - as does my wife. I indulge in photography, history, walking, cycling, regretting wasted opportunities, wishing I was younger and dreaming dreams an old man has no right to dream.
If there is anybody in cyber space who would like to say hello back - I promise to read their blogs with avid interest in return. They must be at least a little sad too. G
But. perversely, when I do get going in conversation and suddenly find that the other party(s) show signs of actually listening to what I'm saying I get all self conscious and flustered, lose my thread and become embarrassed. Surely, I can't be saying something interesting. Panic! Quickly get them talking again, "you were saying - about your polished granite work surfaces". Safe - inconspicuous once more. "Oggle spoggy woggy dret - innit..."
This, I imagine, is where blogging comes in. I can have the illusion of talking to someone and it doesn't matter if they listen to me or not. They can't interrupt me nor bore me nor show alarming flashes of apparent interest in what I'm saying. Nor can they stare at the renegade long black hair protruding from my nostril or the patches of scalp I've failed to cover despite my careful comb-over. In fact, there's probably nobody there at all. Unless it's a billion other bloggers all waiting vainly for someone to respond to their hearts' outpourings.
But in case there is... Hi I'm Sadold. Which of course is not my real name. My full not-my-real-name is Sadold Geezer. Like you, I live in cyber space, my patch being somewhere over Scunthorpe - a two-MacDonald's, four-supermarket town with the best Division 1 football team in North Lincolnshire. I'm a retired Engineer in my late sixties, scarred for life by juvenile exposure to Tommy Steel, Bill Haley, Elvis Presley and, most likely, Atom Bomb tests. I have a wife (my second) whose grand passion - now - is to make cards (crafting). Between us we have four children and seven grandchildren, the five remaining in the UK being under eight -all of whom believe that I am under eight too - as does my wife. I indulge in photography, history, walking, cycling, regretting wasted opportunities, wishing I was younger and dreaming dreams an old man has no right to dream.
If there is anybody in cyber space who would like to say hello back - I promise to read their blogs with avid interest in return. They must be at least a little sad too. G
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