I woke up feeling a little befuddled. Yesterday had been a celebration of excess, ending with a late night trawl through my record collection. Around midnight, I’d adopted my Lizard King outfit and sang ‘LA Woman’ from the top of my voice to neighbours who weren’t totally in tune with Jim Morrison way of celebrating life. Ronnie Corbett peered out from behind his curtains as I balanced on my window ledge and claimed ‘I am the Lizard King! I can do anything!’
‘Except the washing up!’ was Judy’s reply. ‘Or put the seat back down when he’s finished in the bathroom.’
It was sobering. However, my revels helped me finally extinguish the last of the black flames that have been consuming me for the last week. That I’ve been in a bad mood was not in question. I’m prone to them. Filthy, deep, self-pitiful moods when I’m not pleasant being around and even the cat chooses to stay away in the morning.
What brought me around this time were some generous emails which arrived from strangers over the weekend and yesterday (thank you Amy and Melissa). Knowing that my blog amuses strangers is the greatest satisfaction I can get beyond a sudden influx of pound sterling into my bank account. In fact, I think it’s probably even greater than any monetary reward. I wrote (but didn’t publish) a piece last week about blogging which I now look back on with some amusement. It was full of my bitter doubts about the value of blogs, which I compared with social networking. Blogs, it seemed to me then, were not about what is written but just about making connections to other blogs. Blogs, I thought, are read by other bloggers. Twitter has reduced it to its basic principle by which we just acknowledge that we exist. Of course, as George Orwell might put it, some of us exist more than others. Stephen Fry probably exists more any single man alive if we judge him by his Twitterees.
By that measure, I barely exist. However, because of the emails, I know I exist a little bit more than I ever suspected last week. Which was good reason to cast aside my bad mood. I woke up today determined to do some good work, reply to the emails, finish arranging a portfolio of cartoons to send for rejection by some as-yet-to-be-determined magazine/newspaper, and then get back to the book I’ve been trying to write. The first three chapters are hilarious. I just need another nine more to follow. I might only have two days before I’m heading back up to Manchester, but I want to make the most of those two days. For I am the Lizard King.
4 comments:
I'd still love to read your bitter rant against blogs, those bastards have been asking for it for years.
Yeah, and I've joined their ranks. Of bitter bloggers, I mean.
Actually, I jest. I'm not bitter at all - merely spitting and snarling like a....I was going to say snake, but snakes don't snarl do they?
No, not bitter. Just cold and ragged and bloody miserable. And I'm too timid to be rude about The English.
Andrew, I might well dig it out and post it tomorrow. I depends on how embarrassed I might be by what I wrote. The last time I tried to write myself out of a bad mood, I was accused of being a 'faux' intellectual. I don't mind the 'faux' bit but I take umbradge at being called an intellectual.
Tessa, it's hard not to be bitter as a blogger. I think it's natural when we're largely ignored. I believe there is an Angolan adder which snarls. And you should always be rude about the English. We can take it and some of us deserve it.
I think the trick, Dick, is to count your blessings. Fact is, you're a top blogger with the skills that pay the bills (metaphorically that is) and an audience, so three cheers for that at any rate.
Post a Comment