I’ve been on the receiving end of a little gentle prodding from a friend who stumbled across this blog recently and insisted I resume posting. It may be a little metaphysical to write a post about the need to post, but it seems like as good a place as any to start (again).

I don’t even know where the last two years has gone. Do people even maintain blogs anymore? Or do we now confine ourselves to snarky observations of under 140 characters? Should I be posting artfully filtered snaps while pouting heavily? Although duck-face seems to have moved on to something far more aesthetic: Socality? Ostensibly a celebration of authenticity and individuality… that all looks suspiciously uniform. To the extent that even Barbie is taking the piss.

I suppose I shouldn’t rail against this apparent outbreak of narcissism. I am after all writing a blog without any evidence that my opinion is either wanted or valued. So, am I writing purely for self-aggrandisement? Have I become the very thing I’m so fond of (gently) mocking?

Perhaps self-indulgence may be closer to the mark. I maintain the conceit of a fondness for the English language and so, whether read or not, this blog is an opportunity to ply my craft (also, I’m photogenically challenged enough to rule out artful pouting on InstaTube). Under regular circumstances my use of language is purely reactionary – I know if I take too much time with a response my inbox will fill faster than I can empty it. Although I do try to make an effort to form actual sentences, a dying art in itself.

But every so often it’s nice to take the time do to things properly. In that spirit, I recently wrote an email to a colleague (actually, the boss) concerning the inability of other colleagues to for-the-love-of-god-just-send-me-the-damn-document-I-need-how-hard-can-it-be?!?

And yes, that’s exactly the tone I could have conveyed.

It was late at night and stress was preventing me from sleeping, so instead I took an hour or so to carefully draft a missive that conveyed my concern but with what I hoped would be received as genuine humour. I drew on such inspiration as a clumsy amateur could glean from the likes of Clive James, Sir Terry Pratchett and Bill Bryson. I read and re-read paragraphs, wrote and re-wrote. Utterly indulgent but at the same time extremely therapeutic.

The result was an email that was longer than it needed to be but not, I flatter myself, verbose. It was crafted and humorous but not pompous. Well, perhaps a little. But the next morning I was actually thanked for how enjoyable the email had been to read and I received that damn document just a couple of hours later.

So to the extent that you derive entertainment or edification from my blogging, I’m glad. Feel free to comment – I have a drinking game in mind which involves the use of certain words in your responses, should they come.

But know that sometimes, it really is just all about me.

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