Anonymously speaking

You may have noticed that my posts have dwindled from once a week to once if you're lucky.
It's difficult to pin down exactly when a place where I once felt so comfortable being open left me drawing a blank when I looked at the screen, but alas, here we are.

For six years now this blog has charted my life through relationships, break ups, travelling, jobs and friendships. It's been my go-to, my haven, my little place where the weight lifted off my shoulders and transferred into cyberspace.

To do it well, there was never a question: it had to be anonymous. 

For those who have never done it, take my word. Writing anonymously is an exercise in self-restraint. 

The urge to reveal everything about yourself or a situation is a temptation that you learn to ignore. You self-edit, hone the art of giving just enough information so that people can relate to what you're saying, but never so much that they know all the details, or crucially, who you are.

The best bit about blogging in this way has always been coming across similar people. Wonderful, brilliant, lovely people. 

Before Twitter, you did this through comment sections and emails. You made "friends" with other writers who were experiencing the same things, you offered advice under their blog posts, a quick "nothing to say, but I'm here." to someone like you who needed it.

You made connections and revealed things that were way beyond the superficial promotion you see below most lifestyle, beauty or fashion blogs that are everywhere now. Some of these people gradually became friends in real life, something that, for me, will never stop being the best thing about the internet.

There was an implicit agreement in all this: you know about my life, I know about yours. That was the deal. 

Which brings me to the flipside: when people know more about you than you do about them.

It's inevitable when you reach a certain point; you haven't ever been able to know every reader, and you certainly can't now.

But with Twitter broadcasting links to a wider audience, the amount of non-bloggers reading blogs has never been higher. 

Which is how you come to experience this weirdly vulnerable feeling: when you're in conversation with someone who knows your innermost thoughts and the course of your life, and all you know about them is a name and the strength of their handshake.

It jolts you into becoming aware that what you're writing now goes further than the blog. Before publishing, you start thinking less about whether your parents would mind if they read it, and more "would I want to expand on this to someone I didn't know?"

And the answer, sometimes, is "no."

So you don't post. You end up stopping completely because there's nothing that feels right to say. You edit and edit to the point where there's nothing to publish, and then you realise you've taken a break. 

You take the anonymous cap off, do something else, and wait.

And then, after a little bit of time out and a little bit of reassessing, you think that maybe, maybe, a bit at a time, you might come back. 

Two things I like about the internet

There are a couple of things that make the internet one of my favourite places to spend a bit of time.

The first is the cross section of people you encounter: Here. Be. Everyone.

Put any subject, any group, any strange question that just popped into your head into Google, and there will be at least one other person seeking out the same thing (although I have, thus far, been thwarted in my attempts to find out the name of those fuzzy sticker things with ribbon tails you used to get at the dentist. What are they called?).

Over the years since the internet came into my life (circa 1996, when my sister, my dad and I gathered around what I know now to be a chat room, conversing with a middle aged man called "Rhino"), I've found people online who converge with me on a variety of subjects that my offline friends didn't 'get'. It's brilliant, it's what keeps me coming back.

Which brings me to the second thing I like about the internet. Discussion.

Yes, it's all out there. Fans of music I've never listened to, pygmy goat videos, all manner of pornography, religious discussions, pro-anorexia support groups, bombs, cats - lots of cats - and a whole raft of bloggers reviewing everything from politics to Mac cosmetics to countries.

You like all that? You can go and sit with your fellow online friends and charm each other with thoughts 'til the cows come home. I, on the other hand, will sit here and look at YouTube videos of bouncing greyhounds; blissfully unaware of the terrorist groups plotting world destruction on the other side of the virtual garden fence.

Other than to sate curiosity or arrest criminals, there seems to be no need to seek out and engage with those who don't share your views online. But we're human, so occasionally morbid curiosity takes over and we do. Luckily, there are forums for that, too. Places where conflicting opinions are encouraged. News sites, opinionated blogs, the comment sections of online magazines.

But the key to discussing things on the internet is:

1) making sure you get the right end of the stick - is this an appropriate place to air my views?

2) accepting that, when all is said and done, those who don't share your opinions are not evil. They're just different.

Nor are they wenches, or hopeless individuals who will fritter their lives away "racking up" so many men that by the time they meet a husband (who will be disgusted by their previous behaviour), they will be too old to have children anyway, and men will never look at them in the same way as they do now.

Did that seem out of the blue? It did to me, too. Yet the above is something I came up against on Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday. There are currently six comments still waiting in a moderation queue, repeating more of the same.

A group of people discussing their way of life on one side of the internet took issue with the way I'm living mine, and blogged about it. Two men arrived in the comments and told me exactly why I was Doing Life Wrong. The blog post that sent them here had a stream of condemning, religious, fanatical thoughts beneath it which I read, shook my head at, took no heed, and didn't look at again.

I didn't weigh-in on here. A lot of you did (thank you), and then came the inevitable, horrid trolls. Eventually I enlisted the comment moderation and then turned them off altogether (late on Friday, while I was out with my mates being a drunk, childless wench). Fatigue had set in. I was bored with an argument I didn't start and had no interest in, and it was a stale mate.

At which point I'd go back to rule 2 of discussing things on the internet: accepting that airing views is one thing, but repeatedly forcing them on others who don't share them - on their personal blog - is another.

It's a free internet. Say what you like. But at least have the common courtesy to do it in a forum where the subject is up for discussion, and respect the differing views you find there.

Because here's the thing, Simon, Mark et al: this blog is about my life. I invite people to read about it. But despite what the comment section might have you think, none of the choices I've made or am currently making are up for debate.

You want to exchange views, lecture and discuss the right age to have children? I'd start with The Sunday Times (£), Stylist Magazine, Vagenda and, as recommended by Kat in Friday's comments, XOJane.

They've got bigger circulations than here, and authors who probably have more cause for arguing online than I do.

Until then, you have a nice day on the internet. And please, leave me to have mine.

I've read some really bloody good blog posts this week.

Earlier this week I went home for the night, which meant commuting to work the next morning from the suburbs.


There are pros and cons to having a longer commute from Zone 5 (aka The Sticks). Firstly, the seat-grabbing mentality is fierce out there. Seriously, I made a beeline for a spare seat at precisely the same time as an older woman from the opposite end of the carriage. We engaged in what can only be described as a battle of speed, agility and sheer-bloody-mindedness as we both held steadfast to our claim on that square of bum space. I won, but lord, did I know about it from the look on her face afterwards.

On the flip side, once seated I realised a commute above ground means internet signal. Having missed the Metro Newspaper gold rush (another downside; they're all gone by half past eight), I delved into my Google Reader and made my way through the week's blog posts.

Now I've got a job that demands I, you know, do stuff all day - sometimes it's hard to keep up. The evenings whiz by in a haze of pasta and catch-up TV, the odd bit of writing, or drinks with friends. Reading what other people have to say takes a back seat.

But that morning on my long commute, I read a few blogs that reminded me why blogging - reading, commenting, writing - is something that's worth putting time aside for.

1. This post on Team AWOT
The Awesome Women of Twitter does exactly what it says on the tin: a group of awesome women, who can be found on Twitter (or a bar in Shoreditch) and now on a blog. This blog was started last week and it's already top of my reading list because it discusses and engages with the important stuff on girls' minds. If you are female, or male with an interest in girls and what makes the awesome ones tick, then read this post on why our perceptions of our bodies are all wrong.

2. This post by Chelsea Talks Smack
I've been reading Chelsea's blog since I started writing this one, and if the starred items in my reader are anything to go by, this is one girl who seems to have hit the nail on the head a fair few times over the years. From love to heartbreak and everything in between; this week it was the following advice that made me think, once again: "Yeah. Nail, meet head."

"Oh and you should know this, but for the record, you should probably stop giving a shit about that guy. You know why? Because you're really fantastic and you should never need to convince someone of it. Bye. bye."

3. This post by The Unbearable Banishment
Perhaps it's because I'm part of the generation that has seen technology take its grip to the extent we see now, nothing worries me more than society's reliance on the little screens we all carry around, that no one can seemingly be without. This post just encapsulates perfectly the irritation I feel when people sit in groups, communicating with their phones instead of each other. Read the post, then catch yourself next time you find yourself reaching for the phone.

4. Coffee Helps by Hails
Ever been to Korea? Ever moved there and started teaching in a school? Neither have I. But Hails has, and most days she writes a blog about a culture which is so alien to anything I have experienced in any country, it just fascinates me. And seeing as I'm pretty sure I'll never go to Korea, this blog makes up for it.

Blogs can put into words what you can't, make you think differently about a subject, or educate you about something you know nothing about. And that's why I read them.

Keep up the good blogs, all.

A Sunday Times columist made a point worth remembering:

As much as I've always maintained that a diary is mine and no one has a right to read it, this point of view sort of makes more sense.

The kindness of strangers

On Tuesday evening I got a phone call. It was the news I'd been waiting to hear, delivered by the person who had messed it all up: the flat had been re-let. We have it until the 7th March, but after that someone else - another happy couple - will be moving in.

Clearly, this is a good thing. It means that everything will be wrapped up, I have a date when I can move out and move on and never have reason to hear from him again. But then, that was just it. Everything was really over. The flat I'd set my heart on, the independence, the relationship, it was actually all gone. The news hit me harder than I thought it would. This was almost the worst bit, or at the very least, the worst bit happening all over again.

I hadn't got round to blogging about it yet; my good friend (and her boyfriend) had the pleasure of opening their front door to my red ringed eyes that evening. I felt a bit awkward crying in front of them both, so pushed it all aside and got on with the night. As you do.

In a way, a blog is the one place that you don't feel like you're burdening anyone with your shitty life. People can read it if they like, there's no obligation to say or do anything other than shake their head and think "poor her" before moving onto the next website. So when people exceed that expectation and comment, that's a really nice thing. If they email you and share their own story, or offer help and support in the form of just a few words, that's also a real boost.

And if one day after a really shit few weeks, you're about to pick up your overnight bag that you carry to and from work every day and go home, and you open your inbox and get something more than any of that... it will most likely render you speechless. Last night I got an e-mail from Blue Soup, sent on behalf of a group of Anonymous People, my Blog Friends. For you, it said, and there was a gift attached. I sat there long after I was meant to go home just staring at my screen, absolutely amazed. Amazed that people - not just people I've never met, but people I've probably had the chance to meet on several occasions and have turned down the invitation - have cared enough to get together and make my life a little bit better.

It genuinely made a difference. For the first time in weeks, I was preoccupied with something other than this horrible situation. Instead of thinking about him, I spent last night marvelling over how lovely other people are. I went out for a meal with my family and some friends, didn't have to pretend to be cheery, and for once didn't get into bed at the end of it all and have thoughts churning around my head for two hours before I went to sleep. I was knock-out and slept well (and no, it wasn't just the wine).

So to Soupy and the Anonymous People, thank you so much for doing such a nice thing for me. It has genuinely made my month, and I can't wait to get pampered. I have a day off in March earmarked for the treat. And to everyone else who has been reading, commenting, emailing or sending 140 characters of support lately - you just continue to exceed my expectations of what blogging's about. I'm not going to even pretend that I'm half way through this mess, but thanks to this little online community, I'll probably get out of it faster than I otherwise would.

And when I do, I have a feeling I'll be buying a few beers.

Blogging about blogging is so uncool, but in honour of my new template,"I don't give a shit!"

The blog has had a little overhaul.

I have been pondering what to do with my blog for a while now. For a while there I was boring myself just by looking at it, if I'm honest.

But the problem with pulling the plug and starting afresh is that it doesn't actually solve anything. It won't give me free reign to write whatever I want, because now I know what it feels like to be found out (bit like going to the dentist, if you're wondering). And fact is, if people are determined to read your blog, they'll find it. If they read it once, got annoyed and never spoke to you again, then the worst is already done; thats just three less spineless shitbags left in the world to offend. Hiya!

And if those who have found it are still talking to you, mostly because you live in their house and it would be awkward at Christmas if they didn't, then the most you can do is ask them not to. From then on, it's a bit like having your boyfriend round to stay. When he's over, the fam should know not to walk into your room. Or at least to knock first, anyway. That way it's their fault if anyone's hurt or embarrassed as a result of catching you in the act. You know, kissing n that. Ahem.

The upshot is that my blog is staying put. And to celebrate it staying put, and me growing some balls because I'm 26 and think that by now I probably should, I changed the template for the first time in 4 years.

Yeah, I know.

These days, I'm just a little bit too wild for the internet.

Someone hold me back, I.. I...I think I'm going to download a new font.

This week I have been WHINGING relentlessly about matters over which I have no control

Whether it's my latest job, which sees me dealing with disgruntled, downright outraged (and, I expect, incredibly bored) people on a daily basis, or the definite autumn chill accompanying the sporadic bursts of rain outside, je ne pas. But this week's to-do list scribbled in the back of my WH Smith diary goes something like this:

Complain

Complain

Complain

You'd be forgiven for thinking that this is quite normal for a prolific whingebag like myself. Truth be told, I'm actually quite reasonable when it comes to Things That Annoy Me, and usually settle for a 140 character rant on Twitter, or a 500 word stint on the olde blog. It's a rare occasion that I direct my wrath at the company concerned.

I always remember the time when pinkjellybaby had a rant about a holiday company on her old blog (or something), and an eagle eyed company googler concerned duly got in touch and sorted out the problemo. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to happen too much these days. Even with the recent burst in generating online opinions on products, blogs are slipping down the radar when it comes to those who matter. Unless, of course, you're covered in ads and commanding enough hits to demand a company's attention. As much as I'd love to have this much blog-clout, it's a safe bet that for all our product pushing or lamenting, this blog, and most of yours, never will.

Saying that, there are a few companies whose headquarters are receiving a written spanking this week, from Chanel to Bose to HTC. Most notable, though, is STA Travel.

So far, they have ignored my e-mails (and calls) surrounding that rather minor issue of me being refused access onto a plane in New York while using their Round The World ticket. Ergo, I am no closer to recouping the £624 I was forced to shell out for a new flight home. So, after letting them break the code of conduct which gives them 29 days to respond, I've taken my complaint a step further.

If e-mailing, phoning and blogging about the matter won't help - then I suppose we'll have to leave it to ABTA to shove a foot firmly up their arse..
 
If there's any clout left in blogging, perhaps it's this.
 
Dear readers: there are a multitude of other companies who will give you a better deal and service than STA Travel. Take my experienced and considered word for it. If you're thinking of booking your next travel expedition with STA Travel - don't.

Thoughts from a snow-capped Methven

It's difficult, isn't it? Most of us have been there, trapped in that age old blogging dilemma. We write to a public audience, but still expect privacy.

The things I write on this blog (nowadays anyway; once uncovered, never recovered) might not seem very personal. I'm not a sex blogger, I've only ever talked about my relationships when they were broken or just beginning, my real friends rarely get a mention. Emails and comments from you have expressed surprise that I should worry about it being found, given that what's written here doesn't really seem that offensive or break any huge private boundaries.

But what can I say? When I found out that my parents had been reading my blog, then saw my sister's work IP appear on the stats, I still got that horrible, sinking feeling again. Who else had they told? How long had my parents been reading? Why didn't they tell me they'd found it? Why are they so angry at my sister for telling me? And then, why couldn't they accept that this blog - even if it does only contain fairly innocent travel tails - isn't about trying to exclude them from my life, but just trying to keep a little thing I enjoy safe?

I don't want to make this blog invite only. I don't want to move to Wordpress and protect all my posts. I don't want to give up on PDEWYMO because I've spent the last 4 years watching it grow. I don't want to stop blogging. But the more real life people I know who read or have read this, the less comfortable I get with writing anything at all. And if I can't write what I want, when I want - what's the point in having a blog? I might as well write down my inner thoughts on any given situation, and e-mail a detailed account to friends and family on a daily basis. Subject: You want to know what I think? Here you go.

From where I'm sitting (a double room in a snowy little mountain hostel; a quiet calm place gearing up for NZ's ski season) the only solution is to move and start again. Which is annoying in itself. For now, while I'm travelling, I think I'll stay put, and apologise profusely in advance for boring you with the sparse details I'm happy to reveal in the meantime.

But when I get back to London (8 weeks, allegedly), with a Boyfriend and a whole new set of plans, perhaps a new start is in order. Hopefully I won't lose too many of you - the readers I actually want to have - in the process. The more I think about it, the more I realise it might be a good time to put my old university life, the ex-boyfriend, the media temp work, the broken-heart, the friendship-troubles and everything else to bed and start afresh.

After all, wasn't that kind of the point of this eight month trip to begin with?

The Time Has Come

...to re-evalutate how public I make my personal thoughts.

It's going quiet round here until I hear that my parents, sister and god knows who else they've shared this blog address have stopped reading. These things should have an emergency 'lock down' button.

Here we go again.

Don't worry, I won't be sitting here tapping away as it gets to New Year

You know what? You lot take it for granted. Look at you! Just clicking onto the internet, all nonchalant, broadbanded up to the eyeballs without a care in the world. Imagine that was taken away from you, and instead of your speedy free unlimited wifi service, you had to pay by the minute each time you wanted to check into the online world. Or worse still, have time run out mid way through a Facebook status update. You're shuddering at the thought, aren't you?

This lack of internet connectivity since I've been travelling about takes a fair bit of getting used to. While most places I've been staying have had internet, usually the charge is around $6 an hour (£3.40), payable in advance or by the minute. Wifi has been a little harder to come by, although most (but not all) computers have a USB drive, which means I can write everything on my netbook beforehand and copy and paste it over once I'm online.

Sometimes, a hostel will supply you with a couple of aging computers and a dial-up speed connection. Frustrating isn't the word when you've paid for an hours internet time, only to spend 45 minutes waiting for your inbox to load.

For a blogger who would normally publish anything up to 5 blog posts a week, it's been a bit of a shock to ye old system. Not that I want to spend every minute of my trip at a computer, not at all; my inbox is dead and Facebook now bores my socks off. But travelling and blogging go pretty much hand in hand. When you can't do it as regularly as you'd like, when you watch your stats diminish through lack of reciprocal comments, and to find yourself faced with a google reader full of stories you don't have the money to read...woe is me. For I cannot blog. And I like to blog.

Which is why I like Perth, where I'm back for a few days over New Year. Perth's cultural square is about 2 minutes walk from my hostel, and there you will find 24/7 free wifi. This makes the space outside Perth's museums, art galleries and State Library my new favourite place. I'm writing this on a bench, in the sun, surrounded by about 15 other people all tapping away on their netbooks. Forgive me while I jump around, Skype to my heart's content, read your blog posts, write my own and twitter to a group of followers who, err, are mostly in the UK. Asleep.

But ahhhh, what a novelty. Free, unlimited internet. How I've missed you.

No go on, you. Show some appreciation. Go and give your wireless broadband router thing a hug.

PS. Happy new year, in advance.

Oooh wet leggings #sorry

I love blogging, but sometimes it don't half get right on my noggin. I tell you why, listen close. If you're not blogging, I don't care. A blog apologising for not blogging is painful to read. It makes me want to click onto your blog and say 'Good, I'm glad you haven't been here, because you, my dear, are a boring sod when you are.' But I don't. I just get annoyed that they think I care. I know what you're thinking when you write it, but it's just one of those urges you have to surpass. You want to apologise for the fact you're not blogging every day, but in reality, there are a hundred more things more important going on in mine and your other readers' worlds. Namely, the next person down on my google reader who actually has something good to say.

Also, there's only three things that have ever made me delete content from this blog. One was a picture of an elephant having sex which I had in a post from about 2 years ago. It attracted an unhealthy amount of daily visitors (we're talking hundreds) all searching for elephant fornication. I took it down and embraced the four remaining readers like they were my own.

The next was snooping real life friends. They read, they didn't like, I removed. Done.

The final thing is more recent. I have a strange, returning reader. He (I'm assuming its a he) is from Germany. Hamburg, to be precise. Every few days, without fail, he types "sleepingeyes" into google. Although this week there was one variation where he typed in the whole web address. Then he goes to the search box and types in "wet", or occasionally "leggings", often "Oooh", hoping to find a photo that I took of myself in a changing room, mocking the fashion world's worryingly lengthy obsession with wet look leggings. He returns week after week, searching for the same photo which has now disappeared and been replaced with a 'sod off, you dirty German perv' type message.

I wish he would stop visiting this blog. He makes me feel all unclean in the same way that hashtags on Twitter make me want to try and get in the Guinness Book of Records for most number of magazines balanced on a girls head, just so I can compete for the Big Prize for Pointlessness, too. No one reads the hash tag pages. You'll know this because you'll find yourself adding a #hashtag to your tweet, but you'll never have checked where it's going. Or maybe you did once, before you got bored.

#Rant over.

Let's be friends again, blogging.

(Not you, German.)

Saying HELLO

Last night people whose blogs I read, or swap 140 character messages with on twitter, were meeting up for a drinkie poo in London. For (get this) h'actual face to face conversation. Like talking...with mouths and stuff. Mental.

Fact is, I did actually consider going along to the little meet up. I was literally very close; walked past it on my way to Oxford Street. Considered going in. But ultimately, I decided not to. Now, don't be offended. This isn't because I think you're all subhuman lumps of cow pat. It's not because I'm shy, scared, anti-social, or adverse to meeting people off the internet. I'm actually very curious to know what fellow bloggers look like, how my impression of them matches up with the real deal. But conversely, I think that's also why I didn't go in.

One thing is the whole anonymity aspect. It's the mystery of blogging. You don't know me - not really - and I don't know you. For one, this makes it easy for me to write about certain things, and not just the personal stuff. Let me give you a very hypothetical example. Say I write a post about...I don't know, people with wonky eyes. Not in a nasty mocking way, just an observational one that asks "where are they looking?". Like if someone starts talking to you but one eye's at the ceiling and the other slightly to your left, I'm never sure quite where to look, or whether they're looking at me. Or even talking to me in the first place, come to that. Often there's a delay in my response, especially if I'm standing next to someone else, like oh! Me?

Standard blog post idea, yes? Wouldn't think twice about asking you all what you reckon, might even get some first hand accounts coming in so I can lay the issue to rest once and for all. But say I met you all at a big group meeting and one of you had a wonky eye, then no matter how much the subject of wonky eyes plagues me, I probably wouldn't write that post the next day. I'd be worried about causing offence, because I'd have met you and you read this blog. In turn, you might worry that next time I saw you I'd be concentrating on your wonky eye. Facial features aside, limiting the blog fodder is just one reason out of a few. For instance, some bloggers I'd have no issues giving my real name to, wouldn't care if you knew where I worked or lived. Some of you already do. Others, I don't know or communicate with outside of the odd blog comment or twitter, and would want to be more careful. How do you make that distinction when you're all sitting round a table together?

Sure, a one-on-one here and there, a hand picked rendezvous, I'm down for that. Some of you I'd love to have a good old chin wag with, particularly those on the old Blogroll. I think we'd get on really well. But I like the mystery of the wider blogging experience. Meeting those whose blogs I don't follow, who I don't feel I "know", doesn't really appeal.

Plus, in my mind, you are all imp-like mythical creatures with fairy wings and sparkly noses. Some of you have hooves. One of you resembles a fawn. Isn't that a wonderful thing?

An explanation

06 August, 2009 01:53 The Unbearable Banishment said...
Well, you don't have to tell your friends what you're up to but you can certainly let us in on it. How long will you make us wait?

I should probably just mention, I'm not withholding my future plans to create some weird bloggish suspense. In fact, if today was the 16th May 2009, I would have shared my plans outright; safe in the knowledge that the information would go no further. But it's August now, init? Things have changed, mon petit morse.

Nearly 2 and a half months ago, two people I know in real life found this blog. The first person was someone I had been struggling to tolerate for a couple of years now. She then informed another, who I considered a very good friend but had been the catalyst for a recent post about being let down. They read posts that named no names, recognised themselves and applied the sentiments to today. They clicked on the 'Relationships' label. Here, and this hurts the most, they read my thoughts about the break up. One would also have read posts about herself, as a friend that I had distanced myself from and no longer felt close to. A handful of issues that I couldn't resolve until I'd written them down. As bloggers, that's a process I don't have to explain to you. When I removed the posts they continually searched for, they carried on looking for them - sometimes for 45 minutes at a time. The visits have fizzled now, but Stat counter informs me of every time they've been on this blog, what they've looked for and read. The locations tie in with areas of the country they have visited. Most of my friends know I have an anonymous blog. As such, I liken the situation to leaving your diary on a table in front of close friends, one of them picking it up, having a read and passing it on to another. Then getting pissed off about what they find.

Those are the facts. I've written over 500 posts since 2006. A lot has happened in that time, yet I've moaned about Fearne bloody Cotton more times than I have my friends. I know this. Long time readers, you'll know this.

As for what they think, it's all guess work. Oh, and the odd facebook status from one of them, but I'd expect nothing less:



(The fact that this girl will only be happy for me when I'm single, morbidly obese and festering on the Ugly Tree is a moot point.)

Anyway. This has largely unaffected the posts I've written since, but not posting about this situation (which has been weighing on my mind) seemed alien. It's a something all my friends are aware of, whether it's spoken about or not. Ergo, I can write about it. Much like the other things they've read, it won't be news to anyone in real life.

When you hear what I'm going to do, you probably won't be amazed. You'll probably think "Oh, is that it?". But at the moment, I can't share my plans because my friends don't know about it yet, and I don't want them to. Not because I want to keep you in the dark.

And that, my dears, will always be the rule.

I'm baaack! And it's question time...

Dear Bloggers,

Let me pose a hypothetical question to you all:

If you went online, searched for a blog, found it, had a nose about but didn't like what you read...

Tell me.

Why would you continue to come back?

Moreover, if that anonymous blog belonged to a friend - why would you search for it in the first place?

Let's speculate...

It's like Ally Mc Beal...but not.

Every so often I partake in a bit of pimp my blog in return for freebies. Now, in the past this has procured me an array of useful bits and bobs, for example scarves, gloves, perfume and err, a solar charger.

This time, I'm hoping the deal is that I'll get some bottled water...and preferably not a slightly deranged dancing baby. Time will tell.




PS. Should I call the NSPCC?

What the stats say

If you're looking at this blog, I know the following things. How you got here, how long you stayed for, what you clicked on while you were here, what ISP you're using, whether you've got an Apple Mac or PC, what browser you use, where you live and the company you work for. Then I can label you and track how often you come back. Scary that, isn't it?

Most of the time, I don't really care who you are or what you're doing here. Those are just the details available to me and most other bloggers. I'm aware that if I go onto someone elses blog, I'll probably be tracked, it's part and parcel of blogging. We do it to be nosey and for a bit of security. As long as there's nothing odd going on, it's just another little bit of code on a website.

I've run this blog for three years and in that time, there's never really been much to worry about. Yesterday, during a little check of the stats, it became clear that someone has been getting here using some very interesting google search terms; they stood out from the randomness that you usually get. Let's just say they were very specific.

I worried a bit, wondering what that person might think and considered shutting down the blog for a bit. Then I thought actually, this blog's not that bad. When I write, it's not a matter of taking cheap potshots at someone close to me, or badmouthing a certain company, or giving shit to anyone other than people who wear luminous trainers. Oh, and Fearne Cotton. This blog has always been about things that affect my life and probably yours as well, it rarely goes into specifics.

In fact, anonymity only really matters to me because it's easier to write to a sea of blank faces, just like anyone who gets on a stage to perform finds it easier to have the audience blacked out.

So basically - to that person with the quick google fingers...re-read the first paragraph of this blog post. You're not onto me, I'm onto you.

MUHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAAAA etc

Lets be geeky

See, this is the real purpose of having an anonymous blog. The ability to really indulge your geeky side which spends most of the day clicking about on the internet and gets annoyed - not massively annoyed, not oh lord, I want to throttle you with a strawberry lace annoyed - but just slightly irritated with certain things.

Like Twitter. I know this is last weeks news, but I've only just realised how annoying it is now you can't see other peoples replies. Whereas most people immediately realised the downsides and tweeted about it all day, I didn't really get it. But now I do, so I can have a whinge. It completely does away with any sort of group discussion. Take Monday, when me and a couple of others were trying to have a nice game of Penis over Twitter. The problem was, no one could see what other people were replying to me unless you copied them all in each time. Bloody stupid. What was wrong with having the option? Now a game of Minge and Penis just doesn't reach it's full potential.

Then there's me mucking about with different blogging platforms more out of boredom than anything. At the moment I'm trying out wordpress and seriously, other than being able to make entries private...I'm at a loss with it. It doesn't let you put in simple codes to make stat counters work. You have to use their own one, which is like visiting the stoneage. It's pants. Even the spellchecker doesn't get stuff right; underlining the first two letters of perfectly well spelt words. Numpty.

And do you know what I hate more than people picking their nose behind me in their car, but less than Fearne Cotton?

Fussy websites.

Flash intros are the worst for this. What a waste of time - these days no one has the time to sit through a jamboree of swirling patterns and tumbling pictures. I'm like "SKIP! SKIP! SKIP!" I just want to get straight to the content, no messing. SKIP!

And OH GOD this one really takes the biscuit. When you click onto a website, or blog, or anything that's not your own iTunes and sound seeps from your speakers? Why, did I accidentally press play on a random strangers iPod? No, I don't think I did. I don't care what's in your last fm playlist and if I do, then I'm quite capable of pressing play myself. Why do companies and website and blog owners think it's a great idea to inflict sound on you the minute you get onto their site?

Err, I think that's it. For now. Feel free to add your own internet / blog / geeky irriating confession below. I won't tell the real world you care, I promise.

Word gets around

I don't mind real life people knowing I have a blog - I just don't want them knowing where it is. Most of my good friends know I have one, it makes for interesting conversations; they are intrigued about this secret online world where strangers offer anecdotes and advice to each other, where pseudonyms are the norm and hardly anyone - writers or blog characters - go by their real name.

Access is on a strict need to know basis. It was never a question that my boyfriend would have to know about it (now, I'm not so sure. Would I let a new boyfriend read about life with and without the old one?), in fact, I practically forced him to read it. I'm proud of this little space, how it's grown over time - it was nice to be able to share it with someone else.

The problem with giving your boyfriend access to your anonymous blog is that when you break up, you may be able to take back your belongings, but you can't erase a web address from his head - or internet history. Whilst he's assured me that he no longer reads, and I believe him, I can no longer be assured of him keeping it a secret. It's not like I can royally bollock him for such an offence any more, is it?

"So, I hear you have a blog" began the conversation at the bar with one of the boys on Friday night. Someone I definitely hadn't told. Someone I'd only met a handful of times before.
"Yeah...how do you know?"
"[Ex boyfriend's best friend] told me"
"And how does he know?"
"[Ex boyfriend] told him"

When I'm the one doing the telling, the information is restricted, I know what you'd need to type into google to find this place and can limit what I say accordingly. All he'd have to do is open up a webpage and tap in the address in front of our mutual friends and the cat would be out of the bag and scurrying round everyone's feet. On speed. Drinking red bull. Growing wings.

The cat belongs in that bag. It loves the bag. The bag is where the good shiz iz. Let's hope he knows how to keep a secret, eh?

BLOGGING SELLS!

How much does your bog standard company pay its marketing department these days? If it's more than 15p a week, they're getting ripped off. In fact, if you're a managing director of a company which has a marketing department, and in a meeting they come up with some new fangled suggestion such as 'Let's use blogs to spread the word'... sack them now, and let's spend that 15p on a pack of biscuits for the people who actually put thought into their job.

I say this because chances are, they spend their days emailing bloggers at random - like myself, a 24 year old from London (that's right, the one in the United Kingdom), who writes about me and my London stuff, or you and your awful trainers. So let's recap, this is a UK blog, with (stat counter says) mostly UK readers and mostly a UK, 24 yr old kind of theme. No ads. No promotions (unless its a really, really good freebie)

Asking me to promote something that has absolutely no relevance to any of these things is like asking an untrained monkey to sing a Lady GaGa song: utterly pointless, unlikely to happen and does no favours for anyone involved. Least of all the poor, poor monkey who'd have to listen to that vomit-inducing bile in the first place.

Oh, god - I hate Lady GaGa almost as much as Fearne Cotton.

It used to be just the odd fellow blogger, or online sex / furniture shops wanting my interior design expertise and "feedback". But lately, there's been a few legit, normal companies, American companies for the most part, wanting me to devote an entire post (one that would normally contain me whinging about my hangover) to their washing powder. For this, me and my readers get $2 off (does that include postage to the UK?) and "some cute little Snuggle bear widgets you can pop onto your blog to share with your readers ". Aww. Schnuggle wuggle. And I know you'd love all that.

This mass marketing strategy baffles and worries me in equal measure. When it's all a bit random, when it's clearly a case of "grab these email addresses, fire off some emails, tell 'em what a savvy blogger they are, and bingo, let's sell some washing powder"...I just think: there are a lot of unemployed people about, yet clearly the culling process has not yet extended to the buffoons in marketing.

Twitter mania

Is it wrong that I feel cool for having clocked on to Twitter way before the Daily Telegraph got hold of it and did their explanatory "And this, people over 50, is a newfangled WEB THING called TWITTER!"

As I now follow enough people to actually get some fairly good nuggets of time wasted on there now, it kind of keeps me occupied. I'm not sure anyone really knows what to do with Twitter when they first sign up, but eventually it's like this little unicorn of impulsion takes you and suddenly, you must tell SOMEONE...nay... 66 people... what you just did.

I'm pretty sure half the population of Twitter have just signed up to feel a bit special about having a private line to celebrities though. Personally, MC Hammer was only good for that "HEY! HAMMER TIME! NAH NAH NAH NAH...Can't touch this!!!!" tweet which I couldn't help send him, but the rest of the time I never really know what he's on about. Every man and his dog's wife now follows Stephen Fry, you can't bloody get a word in edge ways.

In fact if you click on the username of anyone who has got a reply from a Twitter schelebrity, you will discover that they do indeed spend most of the day trying to elicit a response from their new famous friends. It's like seriously, chill out - stop trying to be Stephen Fry's Best British Friend, this ain't facebook, toots. Take this guy for example, whose current fascination is getting Jonathan Ross to admit to having two distant friends called Tommy and Alan. To the stalker's credit, he got a response in the end, but I can only imagine it was accompanied by a distant, spoken message of "Bloody hell, there are some right weirdos on here, Jane" which our guy will never hear. He's moved on to badgering Stan Collymore now, anyway.

So in conclusion, yes, it does make me feel all down with the kids and cooler than The Times (which did a '100 best blogs' in the Culture section this Sunday. Cringe). And yes, sometimes I do like to pretend that when I used my new found connection with Russell Brand to say "ooh you're on twitter. I think a little bit of wee just came out" that he put my name down on his "to do" list. Yes, I do think it's a wonderful little way to pass the time and keep in touch with bloggers which give me belly tingles.

But bloody hell - these schelebrities and their followers don't half take up a lot of space on the screen. Pipe down.

Actually, just before I press send, Stephen Fry actually said something half interesting:

stephenfry :
Did interviews with Sunday Times and PA (both British) before filming scene. Journos more interested in Twitter than Bones.

stephenfry :
Worry that talking about Twitter too much will somehow spoil it. But hard when asked all the time.Don't want to become a bore on the subject

It's not you that'll make it boring, Mr Fry. It's your famous-friend-hungry followers.


PS. Is Fearne Cotton on Twitter? I'd bloody love that. Please say she is? I'll be good, I promise.