Three little words …

There are three words I dread. Three little words which strike terror into my heart and make my mouth run dry with fear …

I. Read. Your. Blog.

Those three words …

Shit.

That’s four words, isn’t it? Damn my poor counting skills. Although, I suppose ‘I’ isn’t really a word, it’s more of a letter. Yes, technically I’ve decided I’m right. Even if I’m wrong. Which I’m not. Ever.

“I read your blog.”

“Oh!” (Pleasantly surprised)

“Oh.” (Reality dawns)

“Oh dear.” (Fear sets in)

If it’s someone I’ve never met before it’s a bit unsettling – they know more about me than I know about them and instantly puts me on the back foot.

Why this is a problem is beyond me since, due to my appallingly bad memory for faces and general lack of interest in people who aren’t me, I rarely remember anyone I’ve met. I’ve given up introducing myself to people since I frequently find the conversation running thus:

“Hi, I’m Phill Barron.”

“I know, we used to live together.”

“Ah.”

Or in extreme cases:

“Oh for God’s sake, I’m your mother.”

“Right. Sorry.”

This happens so often I’ve taken to preemptive relationship acknowledgement:

“Hey, good to see you again!”

“Have we met?”

Shit. Panic.

“For fuck’s sake, we used to sit together in school. I can’t believe you forgot me. Do they still call you stinky balls?”

What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yes:

“I read your blog.”

Sometimes it’ll be a friend I haven’t seen for years (and can’t remember if I pissed them off or not. Probably safe to assume I have) and as soon as they utter those three words (four, I know. Leave me alone) it instantly negates anything I have to talk about.

And this then is the problem – if someone’s already read what I’m up to I have nothing else to say. Every joke, every anecdote, every little step forward in my career – it’s all here and therefore unusable in real life. If you add Facebook into the mix with its status updates and photo albums – it’s perfectly feasible for someone I haven’t seen in two years to be completely up to date with my life.

Disaster.

I may have to ask them about their life which involves dredging up all sorts of information I didn’t listen to in the first place. I don’t want to talk about them, I’m far more interesting.

No, I don’t believe that either – but one day I hope it’s true.

It’s worse when it’s another blogger because, although everyone reads everyone else’s blog – most of us can only remember the big details. It’s a bit like being a really minor celebrity – you’re vaguely aware some people might know things about you but it’s arrogant to assume they’ve committed every detail of your life to memory.

On the other hand, it’s boring to reiterate things the other person already knows.

So to my mind (and without giving it any thought whatsoever) there are only two solutions.

As an aside, I’ve been watching a lot of Stargate SG1 recently and I love it when Sam Carter says “It’s the only possible explanation.” after delivering a load of exposition. Frequently it isn’t the only possible explanation and is merely the one the writers need you to accept to move the story on. I can often think of at least seven other explanations. Three of them usually feature blamanche.

Anyway. There are only two solutions:

  1. Stop blogging.
  2. Avoid all conversation until the day I die.

Obviously 1 is out of the question because then I may have to do some real work, so 2 it is. I’m still planning on probably going to the scribomeet on Tuesday but I won’t be speaking. I may point occasionally but that’s about your lot. In most people, an absence of speech would resist in an increase in listening … so to avoid that I’ll probably sit at a different table and read a book.

One with pictures.

If anyone’s still reading, you’re probably wondering what the point of this post is.

If it helps, I’m not sure either.

Probably best to ignore it and maybe it will go away.

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Categories: Random Witterings, Sad Bastard | 18 Comments

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18 thoughts on “Three little words …

  1. mandy

    Gibberish, absolute gibber, gibber, gibber, gibber.

  2. I think your blog sells you as a funny, self-deprecating guy and that’s always good in an industry full of self-important know-it-alls.

    Also, Scribomeet?

  3. I read your blog.

  4. You have a blog?

  5. mark eastwood

    I don’t read your blog.

    Pint of milk, please, and an Aero.

  6. There’s one big flaw in your master plan. You are married like me and when you’re married if you are not talking, you are listening.

  7. Mandy: yes.

    Kevin: Scribomeet – meeting of various bloggers about every month or so in London as organised by Piers. I’m never quite sure what the etiquette is and if I’m allowed to even mention it let alone invite people.

    Laurence: more fool you.

    Draconianone: no.

    Mark: Skimmed? Semi-skimmed? Full fat? Gold top? Soya? Pro-active? and Mint? Original? Orange? Be more specific man.

    CNUTS: no relationship has ever been improved by listening to your partner.

  8. I see.

  9. Do you though? Do you really?

  10. Sure he sees. It’s like not mentioning…oh, hang on, I’m not allowed to mention that.

    Um. I read your blog. Did I say that already?

  11. When they say “I read your blog”, Baron Von Barronhausen, do they pronounce “read” in the present or past tense?

  12. Oh either, whatever works for you.

  13. I have my eyes tight shut when ever I’m on your blog. … Does that count as reading?

  14. I will read your blog.

  15. Eleanor: depends, do you have words printed on the inside of your eyelids?

    Piers: do you comment first then read the post? I like that method and will utilise it from here on in.

  16. Um, yeah. … I think maybe you used an ink stamp on them last time I was passed out in an alcohol haze. Grr!

    Just stop it! Alright!

  17. Darren

    I read your blog? Screw that.

    I know where you live…

  18. Me too.

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