Bloggiana and I have had a brainwave. It is autumn – full-tilt autumn with the copper light glancing off the beech leaves and the prince-of-wales feathers waving in the breezes and the robins prematurely gobbling up the nuts in the feeder and the cat munching rabbits’ ears with lusty abandon on the muck-heap. We are hacking again, dodging the dead badger that must have ambled out of the darkness into the path of some late-night home-coming young farmer, dodging the hedge-cutters with their prehistoric yellow teeth, the van drivers with theirs, waving to Mr Angry when we see him and his dog, Snarl.
I know what, says Bloggiana perkily, let’s write a blog.
Now let me tell you that Bloggiana is never short of a bright idea. It was her initiative, just as the credit crunch was about to bite, to launch a brand new range of celebrity underwear. She it was who came up with the concept of Christian Chutney (Ingredients label: Christ knows what’s in it). Perhaps best of all it was Bloggiana who came up with those now legendary items for the Private Eye Christmas Gifts section: Pube-o-Soap, a bar of soap impregnated with pubic hairs; and the reciprocally brilliant Shift-o-Pube, a small razor designed specifically to remove pubic hairs from soap.
So when Bloggiana says let’s write a blog, it is definitely worth giving the old girl her head for a moment. Go on then Bloggiana, what do you suggest? I venture. Well, she says, clearing her throat and picking off one or two stray dandelion stalks from her jodhpur boots, I’ve been doing some research on the matter and it seems to me that there are scarcely any blogs out there that make a head or tail of sense. I mean, she goes on, simultaneously giving Dobbin a dig in the ribs and tweaking some shavings out of her forelock, call me old-fashioned but most of the blogs one comes across, one might as well tune in half-drunk to an American cop show with the sound on low. Not one blog is about anything you and I can relate to, not one blog is in a language you or I can recognise. There’s no mention of PG anywhere, none of swearing, no animals and definitely no chutney.
Hmmm, I say to Bloggiana, noticing the strands of hay peeping from her nostrils and the British Dressage competition calendar poking forlornly out of her pocket, you could be onto something, old girl.
So later that day, Bloggiana and I log on. We go to blogspot.com and browse. There are blogs for politicos and blogs for journos and blogs for weirdos. Someone called Rantingmother might be up our street but when we investigate further, it seems she has ranted herself out of ideas, having last been known to blog in 2006. SpicySue might be another source of competition for our type of blog but it turns out that spicy means something neither Bloggiana nor I could possibly be held to comment upon. Every blogger has a list of blogs they enjoy and we follow link after link. Seems there isn’t one blog out there written by two middle-aged hackers with a penchant for Pinot Grigio and an opinion usually wayward on almost anything small.
Bloggiana, I say to my equestrian co-conspirator, Bloggiana, I think we might be onto something. Let’s start blogging. You never know where it might take us.
To be continued.
I know what, says Bloggiana perkily, let’s write a blog.
Now let me tell you that Bloggiana is never short of a bright idea. It was her initiative, just as the credit crunch was about to bite, to launch a brand new range of celebrity underwear. She it was who came up with the concept of Christian Chutney (Ingredients label: Christ knows what’s in it). Perhaps best of all it was Bloggiana who came up with those now legendary items for the Private Eye Christmas Gifts section: Pube-o-Soap, a bar of soap impregnated with pubic hairs; and the reciprocally brilliant Shift-o-Pube, a small razor designed specifically to remove pubic hairs from soap.
So when Bloggiana says let’s write a blog, it is definitely worth giving the old girl her head for a moment. Go on then Bloggiana, what do you suggest? I venture. Well, she says, clearing her throat and picking off one or two stray dandelion stalks from her jodhpur boots, I’ve been doing some research on the matter and it seems to me that there are scarcely any blogs out there that make a head or tail of sense. I mean, she goes on, simultaneously giving Dobbin a dig in the ribs and tweaking some shavings out of her forelock, call me old-fashioned but most of the blogs one comes across, one might as well tune in half-drunk to an American cop show with the sound on low. Not one blog is about anything you and I can relate to, not one blog is in a language you or I can recognise. There’s no mention of PG anywhere, none of swearing, no animals and definitely no chutney.
Hmmm, I say to Bloggiana, noticing the strands of hay peeping from her nostrils and the British Dressage competition calendar poking forlornly out of her pocket, you could be onto something, old girl.
So later that day, Bloggiana and I log on. We go to blogspot.com and browse. There are blogs for politicos and blogs for journos and blogs for weirdos. Someone called Rantingmother might be up our street but when we investigate further, it seems she has ranted herself out of ideas, having last been known to blog in 2006. SpicySue might be another source of competition for our type of blog but it turns out that spicy means something neither Bloggiana nor I could possibly be held to comment upon. Every blogger has a list of blogs they enjoy and we follow link after link. Seems there isn’t one blog out there written by two middle-aged hackers with a penchant for Pinot Grigio and an opinion usually wayward on almost anything small.
Bloggiana, I say to my equestrian co-conspirator, Bloggiana, I think we might be onto something. Let’s start blogging. You never know where it might take us.
To be continued.
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