When I was a kid I had one of those faces that people liked, and I would often find myself being pinned into a corner while somebody spilled their life story to me, or told me their problems. Teachers felt like they needed to explain things to me, and friend’s mums wanted their kids to play with me. In the 70’s, I worked on the markets in Liverpool and I would often be press-ganged by a queue of middle aged ladies every weekend, and they would regale me with the minutiae of their lives while the other marketeers stood around in groups laughing at me. Say what you will, but I sold more toilet rolls and scouring pads than anybody else back then.
So, people liked me. In secondary school, though, this – just like anything else that marked you out as different – became a stick to beat me with, as the older, tougher kids saw this as a good enough reason to give me a hard time. Eventually I learned to adapt and, over the years, my resting face has settled on an unreadable neutral expression (using the same logic as my friend Michelle, who has what she describes as a “resting bitch face”). I find it easy to turn my neutral glare into a scowl or menacing stare when I need to, so I sometimes pick one to make me appear disagreeable or aggressive.
When I occasionally use public transport – which I tend to avoid whenever possible – I find myself falling into some of the behaviour patterns that I follow when I’m in my car. In my car, I’m most often travelling alone because I prefer it that way, so on a bus or a train I do my best to discourage people from sitting next to me. I don’t go so far as to put my belongings onto a vacant seat or piss myself, but I do try and make myself look like the kind of person you don’t want to sit next to. So once again I pick my aggressive or disagreeable facial configuration and style it out. It all falls to pieces of course as soon as the seats fill up around me and an old lady needs somewhere to sit, but at least I made it to Edge Hill (a reference for Scousers of a certain age).
Part of the reason for all this passive aggression is due to an unopposable rule of cosmic physics, which can best be represented by the scientific argument;
if there is a double-decker bus with 30 double bench seats, with a total combined capacity to carry 60 passengers in comfort, but none of the seats are fully occupied; when the local lunatic gets on the bus at the next stop, why does he always sit next to me?
Which brings us to the white jump board at the edge of the sandpit of this rather long run up to the actual point …Blogging.
Why do people bother? I do it for Vale Royal Writing Group because we have a blogging policy and somebody has to do it (usually me but there are other regular contributors). But if it doesn’t have an element of a formal requirement, why would a person feel the need to record details of the crap we don’t care about? I tried to do a bit of research to try and justify my rant but there was just too much of it (blogging not ranting, but sometimes these are the same thing).
I found one blog that existed purely to provide bloggers with subjects to blog about – and even that isn’t an anomaly because once I knew the concept existed I discovered there were loads of similar blogs, and many blogs that provide the tools for bloggers to manage their blogs. So, stretching the existing acceptable levels of endless loops of people disappearing up their own intimate cavities, I think perhaps I’ve identified a gap in the blogging market, for a blogger to write blogs about people who tell people how to write blogs.
Amongst all the pages and pages of blogs on fashion, make up, hair, recipes, babies, dogs, cats, books, restaurants, art, cinema, writing, music etc. ad infinitum, I also discovered that “blogger” is now an acceptable job title. I found myself reacting to that information in the same way I did when I found out that (A) a man in his 30s can earn a living riding a BMX, (B) having your own YouTube channel is aspirational, and (C) DJs are thought of in the same reverence as gifted musicians, like Charlie Parker, Django Reinhardt and Ella Fitzgerald. The world has always been a bit weird but I think I’ve discovered where I want to draw the line.
In my opinion, reading a blog (including especially this one) is like seeking out the lunatic that you used to dread sitting next to you on the bus, and asking him to tell you all about himself, and what the voices in his head are telling him to do. So, in a way, of all the people on this bus that we’re on, dear reader, you chose to sit next to me. So, settle yourself in and let me tell you all about myself …