Monday again then. I had a good weekend. I went to London (and didn’t buy a Heat magazine…sorry if that jingle is now stuck in your head). I stayed with my lovely mate Friday night. Friends since school, life doesn’t allow us enough time to get together and talk the nonsense. We are masters of the nonsense, and had a great evening together, followed by an early start for me as I headed off to Mumsnet’s Blogfest.
That was a brilliant and inspirational day. The speakers were amazing, and while I came away imbued with a sense of purpose, I am also a little in awe of their talents leaving me a bit dumbstruck as to what to say next.
Nick Hornby said write 500 words a day and in 8 months you will have a novel. Do they all have to be different words? The mate I was talking about above wrote the word ‘banana’ 500 times on her German GCSE paper as she had forgotten to learn any German for it. If I do that daily will I have written the greatest banana novel ever? Or just gone insane.
Thoughts of novel writing only really lurk in the distant ‘Could I? One Day? Maybe?’ bit of my brain box. I think generally my short attention span is more suited to an occasional column of nonsense like what you read here. Maybe one day someone will notice my brilliance and compile all this drivel into a collection of some kind and you will all get my gurning face on a hardbacked book cover in your stockings at Christmas, but until that happens you will have to make do with similar anthologies by far greater writers like Jon Ronson and David Mitchell and Caitlin Moran.
For now (and most likely for always) you can just come here if you want some nonsense. My train of thought doesn’t last long enough for a novel, because it is always interrupted by voices. Real voices, I haven’t reached that level of bonkers quite yet. For example yesterday, while I was considering what I could write my novel about (being in a girl band perhaps…) my thought process was stopped in it’s tracks by such gems as :-
“Let’s have a fruit party, I am an orange!”
“I did a poo out my bum on the carpet.”
The first one baffled me to the point I had no idea where I had got to in planning my magnum opus, and the second one, well the second one needed immediately dealing with obvs.
So no novel just yet. It can brew quietly in the undisturbed recesses of my mind until I have the space to think through whether I can be arsed to attempt it. Instead I shall keep on spooling out the things that deserve proper attention from my mind right here. Such as why a penguin in need of a shag is anything to do with Christmas. (Yes, John Lewis, I am looking at you). I mean, it is cute and all that, but it seems more like an advert for an obviously much needed dating agency called ‘P-P-P-P-Pick Up A Penguin’ than oozing brandy butter and tinsel covered joy! (Maybe I should write my novel about a penguin dating agency?! What do you think?)
Enough. I have a fruit party to attend. I am a pineapple. Laters,
Love Miss Cisco XXX