Where does time go to?
Things seem to happen so quickly these days, it barely seems to have been 2 weeks since I last posted to my blog, but in reality it has been well over 6 months.
There was a survey carried out not so long back that seemed to intimate that most bloggers gave up after 3 months. I can understand why. Making a blog entry is like writing an open diary. Many of us make comments on various bulletin boards/ forums and in most cases keep our anonymity intact, but a blog, in many respects, is different.
The personal blogs are just that, a baring of the soul, the persona of the author. It is egotistical to some degree, the power to write what you want, when you want, and as author you have the ultimate power to obliterate any dissenting comments that someone else might make. However, to some extent it can be a vent, a release of either anxiety, anger or both. It can be a way of idly telling your friends all the gossip without having to make a greater effort to inform them all.
The rest of todays post is just that, an idle telling of a tale to all.
Last weekend, being Easter weekend, being off all week, my partner and I headed South to stay with a friend. The friend had offered me a Rover to replace an ill fated purchase of an Isuzu Trooper, details of which can be found here.
I picked this car up from the Deep South, in the vain hope that we (the car and I) were to spend the rest of its lifetime together, but my partner tells me that we weren't destined to be together (the car and me, not her and me). I have to admit that I felt that I was writing an episode of "worst week of my life", from the moment I left the drive.
After several stops to feed a thirsty vehicle, both with fuel and water that didn’t bode well and only 40 miles from home, I was stopped by a traffic officer.
As he believed the Rover to be the common mode of transport of a member of the criminal fraternity, he felt that he should investigate. Having proved otherwise, he wished me well, telling me that the Rover was a great car.
I was inclined to want to believe him until 20 miles from our encounter, when the cylinder head finally decided to give up the ghost. I won’t go into any further details, suffice it to say this Rover won’t be roving without the help of a tow truck.
I still haven't had a cigarette though!
There was a survey carried out not so long back that seemed to intimate that most bloggers gave up after 3 months. I can understand why. Making a blog entry is like writing an open diary. Many of us make comments on various bulletin boards/ forums and in most cases keep our anonymity intact, but a blog, in many respects, is different.
The personal blogs are just that, a baring of the soul, the persona of the author. It is egotistical to some degree, the power to write what you want, when you want, and as author you have the ultimate power to obliterate any dissenting comments that someone else might make. However, to some extent it can be a vent, a release of either anxiety, anger or both. It can be a way of idly telling your friends all the gossip without having to make a greater effort to inform them all.
The rest of todays post is just that, an idle telling of a tale to all.
Last weekend, being Easter weekend, being off all week, my partner and I headed South to stay with a friend. The friend had offered me a Rover to replace an ill fated purchase of an Isuzu Trooper, details of which can be found here.
I picked this car up from the Deep South, in the vain hope that we (the car and I) were to spend the rest of its lifetime together, but my partner tells me that we weren't destined to be together (the car and me, not her and me). I have to admit that I felt that I was writing an episode of "worst week of my life", from the moment I left the drive.
After several stops to feed a thirsty vehicle, both with fuel and water that didn’t bode well and only 40 miles from home, I was stopped by a traffic officer.
As he believed the Rover to be the common mode of transport of a member of the criminal fraternity, he felt that he should investigate. Having proved otherwise, he wished me well, telling me that the Rover was a great car.
I was inclined to want to believe him until 20 miles from our encounter, when the cylinder head finally decided to give up the ghost. I won’t go into any further details, suffice it to say this Rover won’t be roving without the help of a tow truck.
I still haven't had a cigarette though!
posted by putasolutions at 10:48 pm
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