Crikey restarting this blog is like starting school all over again, except this time you're the old and wrinkled one sitting at the back wondering where your friends went and if any of this new bunch bought a corkscrew.
Firstly, I don't know my way around this new fangled blogosphere, the corridors smell funny, there's no set seating for lunch and my spot with the comfy grass round the back of the bike shed has been taken. I feel a Pile coming on.
Secondly, I've got to make new friends. Which is painful, I'm terrible at it, I tend to fall over my words and make inappropriate jokes about anything that comes to mind. I was once introduced to a Mum at the school, and all I could think of to say was:
"Haven't you got even teeth"
To be fair she had got really really straight teeth, but this was in answer to the question "is this your puppy?" Which it was, so I should have just said yes and would you like a stroke? Of the puppy not me hahahah - see, I do it on the keyboard too. I mean, would you be friends with me? Doubtful, I steal (WHY, why do I do that?)
Anyway it's been four years away from this blogging malarky, my new career in interpretive dance went quickly by the wayside, apparently interpretive dance still means you actually have to be able to dance. Which the Cruise Liner didn't specifically say on the advert. Also, turning up dressed as a pantomime cow to the Captain's Welcome Dinner was seen as an interpretation too far even though we were having beef. Honestly, no sense of humour the lot of them.
I did try and lighten the dinner up by taking up the captain's hat and spreading my arms out wing-like and singing My Heart Will Go On but he just looked crosser and went red. In one last attempt to get him to bloody cheer up, I winked at him through my costume and suggested I'd like him to draw me, "wearing this (tugging at cow costume) and only this" Flutter flutter, simper. So that was the end of my interpretative dance career.
Last year I went to register as a childminder but they suggested I take a breathalyser before the next interview and to consider carefully if this was the career for me. Obviously I insisted that it was, I'd be ace at it. I've got two kids of my own and they're alive, and I've had one of them for ten years, speaks for itself really.
"Hand me a couple of kids and I'll show you" I said winningly, "come back in ten years and they'll be alive, I SWEAR".
I don't think they could find any children that needed minding that week so I didn't get to do that job.
Eventually I did some dog walking, no one really interviews you for that and dogs don't talk. You can tie them up anywhere - anywhere!- as long as the General Public can't see, and have a sit-down, a bit of a snooze, anything really and get paid for it. The dogs are really grateful too, especially if you wear your cow outfit. They think you're trying to be their friend.
But I missed the blogging, Mistress of my own domain, charting my own course, laying wherever I set my dogs, and I think I'm dead employable online; it's anonymous, you can't tell whether I passed the breathalyser and I have endless, endless inappropriate relatives. Lucky, lucky me.
And lucky you for getting to join in.
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