So, according to WordPress, my last blog was number 39, making this number 40. All pretty reasonable since my previous attempts at blogging have petered out after a few attempts. My entries have been a little sparse over the past couple of months, but they are still there. They’ve been written. They exist.

I’ve never really decided in what particular direction I wanted this blog to go. I’ve read perfectly excellent blogs in which the author is open about their identity, who they work for etc etc and read some also excellent anonymous blogs, where friends and colleagues have pseudonyms and it’s easier to whinge, whine and bellow freely at the internet, whilst writing in peril of being discovered by real life people.

Much like the rest of my life, I seem to settle somewhere in the middle of all this. I’ve not changed the names of people who feature here, yet I’ve have made some attempt to not give away absolutely everything about me. My blog is linked to my personal twitter account, which my friends read, but I’ve never publicized a post on FB. I’ve given the address to a couple of friends, who might be interested in having a nose, but never tried drawing attention to myself.

I don’t know if that is precisely what I wanted from writing here – I know the original idea to start writing accounts of my life was inspired from emailing a boy and comparing our tragic dating history. We joked about writing opposing memoirs – mine containing a comprehensive list of awful dates in which I search for true love and his; an account of someone descending slowly into madness. That’s not really how this has turned out so far, but that doesn’t mean to say I won’t bust out the story of the bad date where a guy bit my forehead, or the tale of “the evening of cack-handed back-handed compliments”.

I think I realised I couldn’t anonymously write an account of my love life, because quite frankly, an awful lot of people have heard the stories before and it really would be quite easy for anyone who has met me to put two and two together and find me online, regaling another disastrous date. I’ve had a checkered past which has left me with excellent stories which I have dined and drunk on. In that case, an anonymous (and inevitably quite spiteful) blog would only exist to tell MORE people about my shitty life and I’d be writing purely to seek an audience. Yes, I suppose that is primarily the point of writing, but I’d prefer someone to accidentally stumble across my blog and start to read regularly, than deliberately write something provocative in order to generate attention.

I think for now, I’m happy to drift inbetween diarising my life and anonymously cataloguing it, although if all goes quiet here and suddenly a new blog about a misanthropic south London twentysomething living in Berkshire gains huge momentum and legendary blog status, you know where I’ve got to 🙂


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