I still don’t understand this “blogging” lark.
When I started nearly seven years ago, I hadn’t a clue what it was all about and I still haven’t.
Before I started this site I hadn’t written anything longer than a shopping list so there was no great urge to put pen to paper. There was a very good reason for that – I am a mediocre writer. Now I am honest with myself and I am not fishing for any compliments, so if you say I am anything better than a mediocre writer then you’re a fucking liar.
As sites go, this is a very small one. I thought I had a reasonable level of traffic, but last night I discovered an error in the site which means visitors are being counted twice. So I only have half the small number of readers I thought I had. So instead of being a little fish in a big pond, I’m actually a minnow in a fucking ocean.
Now all that is fine and good, but there is one thing that puzzles me more than anything else.
Why do they keep wanting to interview me?
If they said they wanted to interview Ireland’s Wrinkly Bloggers I could understand. If they said they wanted to interview all hairy bloggers I could see the point. But they don’t. I just get an email from a journalist saying they want an interview. Why pick me? Let me quickly say that I’m not objecting. I’m quite happy to chat away to nice female journalists, whether it be on the phone or face to face. But out of all the “bloggers” in the land why do they come to me? You only have to look at the Blog Awards Long List to see that there are hundreds of “bloggers” out there. Am I on some kind of list that journalists pass around?
The only real problem that I have with these interviews is that each and every one asks me the same question – why did I start? It’s a problem because I don’t fucking know. I was just messing around one day and it kind of happened. I didn’t plan it, and if I had been asked then I would have said it would be dead in the water within a month.
We had another photographer here yesterday.
Of all the photographers who have been here, he was the most thorough. He shot me in my armchair. He shot me in the kitchen. He shot me in the sitting room. He shot me in various places in the garden. He used wide lenses and telephoto lenses. He lay on the ground to get an upward shot but Penny licked the lens so that idea was scrapped.
He told me I was an excellent subject because I wasn’t afraid of the camera.
I told him it was because I had tons of fucking practice with previous photographers.
Apparently the article is supposed to appear in the Sunday Times on Sunday week. Or maybe next Sunday? I don’t know. I don’t even know what the article is about.
At this stage, it’s all a blur.