My diary is overflowing.
Now that I am VeePee there is so much going on that I need three pieces
of kitchen roll a week to write everything down. I haven’t had time to watch the washing
machine go round since June.
There would not be room for all of it in the Journal, unless
the erudite articles were removed and the Journal were re-branded as a
comic. Which is not going to happen; even
I can see that.
So I decide I will start a blog for all the extra material. I have never written a proper blog before. I turn to Google®, which runs my entire life
now from writing my shopping lists to remembering my friends’ birthdays (and,
usefully, their names), and sure enough Google® can organise a blog for me and
suddenly there I am, writing my very own Real-Life Twenty-First Century Web-log.
Shortly afterwards, Amazon® (which must surely be Google® in
disguise) recommends a book about blogging; three self-help DVDs for the
anxious and the insane; and the sequel to Fifty
Shades of Grey, which is called something like Lots More Shades of Grey or Too
Many Shades of Grey or That’s Enough
Grey for Now, Really.
I attempt to advertise my new blog on Twitter®. This is spectacularly unsuccessful due to me
not being able to copy and paste the correct something or other. My daughters, who know all about these
things, help me out of my predicament and roll their eyes theatrically. Then they go on Twitter to make fun of my
latest tweets, which have become the key source of family entertainment these
days particularly during our plenary washing-up sessions.
Still, at least we still have plenary washing-up
sessions. Who says the nuclear family is
doomed?
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