Forget The Twat, Twitter: I'll Macroblog, Thank You.

It was suggested by a friend, who goes by the fine nickname of Fair Tits, that I should capitalize on this business of blogging to pour out my silly stories online, in the hope that if, should I come to 25 and still not have got the hang of UCAS and have grappled at some sort of degree (academic or really otherwise), someone might let me write for their small-town (very) indie magazine with the prospect of payment if a readership of over an hundred is ever achieved. Of course, the other, and possibly more achievable solution, is that great big money-making production-line of Erotic Fiction. I’ll leave that for another day.

But what do I know about blogging? What do I know about writing?! Very little indeed, I can tell you: I know that narrative in the first person major is largely pretentious and the minor, often dull: who cares about the sidekick’s feelings? I know that language evolves at such a rate, that I won’t have to worry about my grandchildren ever unearthing my mostly-horrideous teenage personality and that the extreme permanence of written language is enough to scare me into hiding.

This limited knowledge comes from my brief stint at attempting an A Level in English Language at the end of last year, which only taught me really dull and fairly nasty things about the state system such as, ‘Free Condom Fridays’ happening once a month and the game they like to call ‘college’ which involves packing as many underage girls doing Hairdressing courses and overage boys (although often referred to as, ‘lads’) ‘studying’ something to do with cars into a small and dingy canteen. The result? Think http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DE9llClgTqY. There’s very little education involved, and hence my lack of insight into writing.

Nevertheless, furthermore and moreover, I thought I would try in my best English (which is rapidly going downhill I have recently noticed: I can no longer distinguish between third person singular and plural) to create some form of continuation from the (surprisingly well-received) letters I began during my nannyship France.

I'll begin, as is rhetorically correct, with an apology for my lack of tact (having been described as 'the discretion of a swan flapping around on the back of a giant elephant'), so if anyone is heavily offended by anything I say, just stop reading, don’t try and get me thrown off the internet, ok? Because there are bigger things for you to worry about. Click here, http://rotten.com/ and you’ll be feeling a lot more comfortable with whatever I have to say.

As soon as I've got my computer sorted so it can take more photos, I will also keep the photos flowing, but at the moment, its feeling a bit sorry for itself, with its limited memory. So for the moment, I'll leave you with my favourite Postsecret I've seen for a while.

Reading: Eclipse, Stephenie Meyer
Listening to: Coeur de Pirate - Comme des Enfants (Le Matos Andy Carmichael Remix) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWrU4We1Nq8