CHANGE OF ADDRESS

Having spent a weekend frolicking in the country as a guest of my lovely cousin, it became increasingly apparent that I’ve definitely reached the point where I should really, really, really, do what I’ve been lazily promising to do for some considerable time. Change my blog address. Or, for all you Orc speakers, change my URL.

In another example of "how small is this world, eh?" during my cousin’s party I met a chap who had not only recently worked for the BBC but also lives just around the corner from me. We were merrily discussing work in progress and mutual acquaintances (whilst successfully multi-tasking in the drinking booze department) when the conversation inevitably stumbled around to our experiences of the BBC’s bumbling bureaucracy. Stories were exchanged, much hilarity ensued, and then I mentioned that a version of my recent experiences were available to read online.

HIM
You’ve got a blog?

And there it was. That was when it dawned on me with the subtlety of a drunk pissing on a rare mountain flower. I slowly nodded my head, yes.

HIM
Great. Love to read it. What’s the address?

As he reached into his jacket for a pen I contemplated my options:

        1. Run. Just run away and keep on going. No looking back.
        2. Fake a heart attack. Or maybe just a swoon and blame the champagne.
        3. Tell him it was actually a lie and offer him money to keep quiet about it.
        4. Some other rubbish.

It was never going to be an easy sell telling the best friend of my cousin’s husband my blog address when my cousin’s husband is called Tom. Not really the kind of thing that’s going to go down at all well at a church blessing for Tom’s daughter.

My fixed grin wavered as I watched him fail to find a pen on his person and turn to the assembled table of really nice people and ask if any of them had a pen. Of course they did, and of course the question briefly stopped them all from talking, and as the kind-eyed woman with the warm smile rummaged through her bag for her pen I realised with utter terror that he was telling her what the pen was for. A few of them looked over. I tried to play it cool, convincing myself that rapidly rotating thumbs are a perfectly normal accompaniment to bad whistling and manic rapid eye movement. I thankfully stopped short of enacting an impromptu tap dance. But only just.

I was desperately struggling to think of some light-hearted repartee to quell the presently brewing social holocaust when relief arrived in the form of my cousin who dragged me off to meet an old friend. I waved an “I’ll be back” at the table and allowed myself to led away, back into the security of anonymity, and this time vowed to do something about it.

So, here it is. At long last an end to my worries and also, in fairness, a timely end to my long running j’accuse of MySpace’s friend-to-all, Tom.

The blog is dead. Long live the blog... http://jaredkelly.blogspot.com