Let's blog again, like we did last summer ...or rather last decade. Last night one was reminded of the halcyon days of blogging by erstwhile Prince of Darkness Spanish Goth, into whom one bumped on the steps of the Hairy Canary en route to a New Year's libation with Aunty Marianne and Scouse Doris. Having just seen the aforementioned blogueuses, he feigned surprise at seeing one in this unaccustomed part of town and asked "What is this, a bloggers revivalist meeting?"
Blogging, it appears, has gone the way of the skipping rope, the hula hoop, Babycham, "Charlie" (the perfume, not the other stuff), the Gonk, the reel-to-reel tape recorder, the IBM Golfball, tank tops, loon pants, Radio 1 DJs, youth clubs, the Rubik's cube, the Furby, Jimmy Savile, western TV series, Athena posters, ......... which is, I think, a shame as it had many beneficial effects, especially for people on the autism spectrum.
As a way of making friends, blogging was the electronic equivalent of kidnapping. Speed-dating for control freaks. If Facebook is like being in the pub, blogging was like standing on the bar with everyone else gagged and bound. You could hold forth at length, and readers had to absorb the entire post before commenting. That way, you were sure to be heard, if not listened to. It was great for ranters, although not wise for them to add "Site Meter" to their blogs, as they soon realized they were standing on the bar of an empty pub, or like John the Baptist, crying in the wilderness.
There were some big egos. There were even some "method bloggers" who refused to come out of character. And they, of course, assumed everyone else was a method blogger too. I remember one Grande Dame of the ethernet, having met me in the flesh, saying in a bemused way:
"You're not at all how I imagined. I thought you'd be .... "
"Posher?" I countered, shifting my chip from one shoulder to the other.
"Yurse .... " she replied languidly, blowing Sobranie smoke through an ivory holder. *
Some bloggers even got famous and were published. Belle de Nuit was one, and Petite Anglaise, who it turned out was just bored between husbands and is now back in an office job.
I even got into print myself. I and a few other Brussels bloggers were featured in this compilation which was published for Red Nose Day 2007.
Blogging was a way of allowing people who are convinced there's a book in them to find out it's only a pamphlet, write it and get on with their lives. But you get a bit of feedback and the let-down is gentle because the expectations are that much lower. As for me, I contented myself with a therapeutic voiding once a week, only some of which was based on fact. But then life got in the way and, you know, the creative juices started to leak out of the tetrapak that is my mind.
Remakes. reboots and reprises are very in vogue right now. Ben Stiller has remade "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" (which will remind me of Harold, I know); Ridley Scott is remaking "Exodus" in the Almeria desert, where Christian Bale as Moses (nice irony there!) will part the Sea of Plastic and Jesse from Breaking Bad will play Joshua 'blowing' his horn - all terribly subtle; "Open All Hours" is coming back, with an elderly David Jason now in the role that Ronnie Barker vacated.
So my New Year's resolution is to decant my mind into a bottle rather than the other way round, and write more tales of the KNOB**, further adventures of Gorbals McChe (Glasgow Hard Man - retired), The Rise and Rise of Bert, Hot Flash and brassy women of a certain age, the best way to play the maracas, salacious gossip about the Euroslebs of Brussels, and possibly even The Return of Scrumpy.
The KNOB**
Eurosleb. Sorry, Euroslob.
Gorbals
The famous reboot of Dr Who was a lifesaver for the Doctor. Perhaps it's time for Daphne to regenerate? In a post-ironic way, naturally.
*Any resemblance to bloggers living or dead is purely coincidental
** Kurt Nachtnebel Oompah Band
