Chugger Chugger brumm brumm. I fall out of love with blogging and writing. Not through any haughty poetic reasoning but a sort of self hating fear. One of watching an unedifying bluster of words jostling each other like a rugby team trying to fit into a mini on its way to the crucial semi final. A fight will break out, there’ll be blood and gore everywhere and they’ll go absolutely nowhere. So I clean the whole imagined horrific scene with the definite press of one button, delete.
Sometimes I sit with fingers poised over the keyboard , envisioning the brawl ahead, and I stay in that position like a pianist just before the concert or a magician with hands hovering over the top hat waiting for the rabbit to appear. What i fear is that i may not be able to write because what is most crucial is to write. It’s all got to do with the fear that it my not appear. And the outcome of all this postulating is that it doesn't. Ta Daaaaaa. Perverse I know. I could liken the sensation of not writing to standing on a cliff edge. You know that feeling you get, just two steps and you could fly off the edge.
But If what I am doing right now is getting back in the car and retreating from Beachy Head then there should be some interesting blog posts to come. You, the reader and the passenger in my car will I hope enjoy the views to come rather than worry about my gear shifts. Still, if you treat this post as a careful look over the engine. Could you put your seat belt on please. Chugger Chugger brumm brumm.