Tuesday, September 05, 2006
No news is good news. Apparently.
There comes a point in every man’s life where he has to admit defeat.
“Write a blog!” they said. “It’s easy!”
“Yes! That’s just the ticket! The ward and the world can find out about my life of excitement and non-stop community action!” I replied, teeth twinkling in the moonlight, looking skywards with a glance of hope.
And yet, today, I have absolutely nothing of substance to report whatsoever. And I apologise. Not for that, but for typing this message anyway, and wasting your valuable time.
I could write about work, and the meetings and emails that I was faced with from 8.30 this morning until 5 o’clock this afternoon. But they depressed me then, and they continue to do so now. So I won’t.
I could write about the haircut I received having stopped off on the way home at my friend Howard’s hairdresser’s (Mr Howard’s in Crumpsall, and very nice it is too), in preparation for my holidays which begin at the weekend. But I shall write more about the holidays on Friday, by way of explanation as to why there won’t be any blogging for three weeks.
Or I could write about my Grandpa, who is now officially the longest-staying resident on Ward E6 of North Manchester General Hospital (37 days and counting), and who was more coherent than usual this evening, although painfully thin. But, whilst the nurses do all they can, it doesn’t do me any good to go on about his decline. Not whilst it’s touch and go whether he’ll ever reverse it in any meaningful way. I think discussion of that will have to wait.
So we’re left with the dregs of the day. Journeys to and from work (uneventful), lunch (home-made sandwich and fruit), and a conversation with my landlord during which he said that whilst he’d fix the fence (the star of yesterday’s blog), I would have to sort out the garden.
And so the thought of heavy-duty yard-work, like the meetings and emails and, sadly, my home-made sandwich, leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
Tomorrow we select the Lib Dem Prospective Parliamentary Candidate, so at least I’ll have something positive to say then! Unless the ridiculous electoral system we’re using makes my brain explode. In which case I’ll probably be joining my Grandpa in the spare bed next door!
Rick
“Write a blog!” they said. “It’s easy!”
“Yes! That’s just the ticket! The ward and the world can find out about my life of excitement and non-stop community action!” I replied, teeth twinkling in the moonlight, looking skywards with a glance of hope.
And yet, today, I have absolutely nothing of substance to report whatsoever. And I apologise. Not for that, but for typing this message anyway, and wasting your valuable time.
I could write about work, and the meetings and emails that I was faced with from 8.30 this morning until 5 o’clock this afternoon. But they depressed me then, and they continue to do so now. So I won’t.
I could write about the haircut I received having stopped off on the way home at my friend Howard’s hairdresser’s (Mr Howard’s in Crumpsall, and very nice it is too), in preparation for my holidays which begin at the weekend. But I shall write more about the holidays on Friday, by way of explanation as to why there won’t be any blogging for three weeks.
Or I could write about my Grandpa, who is now officially the longest-staying resident on Ward E6 of North Manchester General Hospital (37 days and counting), and who was more coherent than usual this evening, although painfully thin. But, whilst the nurses do all they can, it doesn’t do me any good to go on about his decline. Not whilst it’s touch and go whether he’ll ever reverse it in any meaningful way. I think discussion of that will have to wait.
So we’re left with the dregs of the day. Journeys to and from work (uneventful), lunch (home-made sandwich and fruit), and a conversation with my landlord during which he said that whilst he’d fix the fence (the star of yesterday’s blog), I would have to sort out the garden.
And so the thought of heavy-duty yard-work, like the meetings and emails and, sadly, my home-made sandwich, leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
Tomorrow we select the Lib Dem Prospective Parliamentary Candidate, so at least I’ll have something positive to say then! Unless the ridiculous electoral system we’re using makes my brain explode. In which case I’ll probably be joining my Grandpa in the spare bed next door!
Rick
# posted by Richard Baum @ 19:55 
Comments:
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Don't sweat it. As someone who's kept a diary for most of her life, I learned that you can't expect to make an entry every day. In fact, forcing yourself to do that can result in you giving it up entirely because it becomes more a drudgery than pleasure.
The trick is to fool yourself. Say, "I don't REALLY have to write in my blog/diary. I just do it because I LIKE it. I can stop any time!" You'd be surprised at how far you can go with this. I've kept my current diary (written, not a blog) since 2000. Have several others that lasted a year, five years, etc.
(And try reading great diarists like Pepys and Woolf. This can make diary reading -- and writing -- quite addictive.)
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The trick is to fool yourself. Say, "I don't REALLY have to write in my blog/diary. I just do it because I LIKE it. I can stop any time!" You'd be surprised at how far you can go with this. I've kept my current diary (written, not a blog) since 2000. Have several others that lasted a year, five years, etc.
(And try reading great diarists like Pepys and Woolf. This can make diary reading -- and writing -- quite addictive.)
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