My yen to blog was nearly struck down in its infancy. Last Monday I curled up in front of my laptop, fingers poised. Ready to take down the words that had been milling around in my head as I had dragged myself home from Brixton Hill. Honestly, I even had a title 'Rainy Days and Mondays', cracking stuff*. And then came my undoing. Blogger asked me for my password...
Much racking of slightly befuddled, hungover brain produced no results. Further racking of the slightly less befuddled and hungover brain the following day produced more nothingness. Dammit. For some reason I couldn't seem to get blogger to let me change my password to something more memorable and had given up quite frankly, as I am wont to do with most things. My original post seemed destined to exsist as a manifesto for a campaign I would never follow, until today! I found my password scrawled across the cover of this month's Vogue. Excellent.
My mild excitement at getting back to blogging is dimmed somewhat when I read this back and realise I have just blogged about finding my blogger password. Not the most exciting of events all told. Eh, I 'll write something substantial tomorrow because I have a job application to fill in and I'll need something to help me procrastinate. Productive creative procrastion. Perfect.
*Probably. I'm not all that sure I remember what I was going to say if I'm honest. I had a monumental hangover because I'd stayed at my best friend's house and we had between us consumed 3 1/2 bottles of very cheap white wine and a few gin and tonics. So 'cracking stuff' is merely conjecture and probably only asserted because a) I quite like the phrase and b) I wanted to make myself look good. Sorry.
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