Blogging's a bit like Big School isn't it? I'm thinking of "Big School" in the olden times when inkwells were filled with Quink by an Ink Monitor and 11 year olds were allowed to fiddle with Gas Taps and electric shock machines.
Being a relative newcomer to the blogosphere I feel like the New Boy who has just moved into the area and has to join 2B halfway through the second term by which time most of the social hierarchy has been set in stone. Most school friendships always seemed to jiggle into place like one of those coin sorting machines in those brief first few weeks of term when everyone is on the same footing. It must be true that even proximity to other pupils by alphabetical surname will affect those early friendships - "Arse stop playing with Armpitt!". Once the sporty types and the intellectual groups have all "picked up teams" anyone coming in as a newcomer will feel like Jeremy Clarkson at a Cycling convention.
Which is the fascinating thing about blogging. Every blog has a little list of blog chums and they all interlace in a complex three dimensional network of Venn bubbles, no two being the same and each network branch linking off into infinity. We're all merely 6 degrees of blog link separation from each other.
I've been at a car boot sale all morning standing in a muddy misty field talking bollocks about a load of rubbish. Can you tell?
10 comments:
Nothing changes then Rog. Ho, hum! Were you buying or selling? The talking bollocks bit wasn't much of a giveaway!
No one fiddled with Gas Taps in MY lessons .... why the capitals??
I've been wondering recently why blogger A (O.K. Dave) doesn't do blogger B, and why I don't go over and see whatsisname even though he's in everyone else's gang.
Just like the playground.
'Tis true. The only reason I started reading Diamond Geezer, several years ago, was that I thought it would a good name for a blog, so looked to see whose it was. Then I found several other bloggers I 'knew' read him too.
When I was at school we had inkwells in the desks in their own little holes, but they were empty except for the screwed-up blotting paper. You're showing your age, Rog.
I wonder if you were at the same car boot that Al and Dilly went to this morning.
You intended to have a certain tune waft around my head for the rest of the evening, didn't you? I'm going to scweam and scweam. Until I am thick.
My first friend at big school was Cheeseman because we were the same letter and we were the only two kids wearing caps.
You're right though, I'm only a couple of clicks away from people I have nothing in common with. You've got to find some common ground.
wv - buslain!
Kaz: who is blogger B that I should be doing?
John: I was selling. And Badoom Tish! to you.
Kaz: Don't fiddle with my Gas Taps in Capital Letters? What a polymath teacher you must have been, pulling Science and English Grammar together in each sentence! And you've got young Dave all a-quiver as well now.
Z: I think the inkwells may have been false memory system because they were at Junior school - we all had Parkers with Turquoise Quink bottles at Secondary. I was at Mahnab. Bequine de Violet Elizabeth then.
Geoff: I'm pleased you and Cheesybug (was he from Gravesend)have supported my Alphabetical theory. We should all have our own buslains.
Dave: Mr Sanderson wants to see you after assembly so ner.
That sent a frisson of fear down my spine, even after nearly 40 years.
What caused this apparently unrecorded folk-migration from North-West Kent to East Anglia? Why did Geoff get left behind? Were you all excluded (except Geoff) for fiddling with each other's inkwells?
Dave: "Frisson of Fear" was the modest publication I also stuck down my trousers in those heady pre-childline days.
Christopher: How very dare you! My nib was nowhere in sight when Dave's inkwell appeared in the first year. Geoff was using a Biro, but that was just the boy's pen name.
Yes, so were they. Small world. Well, small county.
Turquoise Quink. Indeed. I'd forgotten that we used turquoise ink in those days. We'd graduated to black by the 5th form though, hadn't we? I've still got that very Parker, which had been my father's, somewhere. Blimey darling, you're making me come over all 1960s.
Peace. And love.
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