Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 17 September 2016
A fellow blogger and I have been having secret and private discussions on what makes one blog more popular than others, and I have wondered to what lengths I would go to make mine as popular or if I would ever want it to be in the first place. I mean, it is not like selling books or something, so what is it like?
I toyed with the idea of attracting a teenage audience by making a video blog on make-up and its application - some of those 18 year-olds are making thousands a week - but I am not sure I would get the cosmetics sponsorship. Do you know how much some of that stuff is?!
I recently stopped following a Canadian woman's off-the-wall fashion blog, because I got fed up with all those bloody photos of her looking stunning in some rags she bought at a charity shop, despite the fact she is very photogenic for her age. She has a very expressive face, and her images are so compelling that I just can't be arsed to look any more. I have compelled myself dry.
I suppose I could take you on a daily walk through the village and introduce you to all the animals, old people and psychotics that inhabit it, but it would be a short walk and I would have to supplement it with deeply emotional, heart-rending tit-bits to keep you coming.
There again, I could give you a running commetary on my daily lunches, dinners or breakfasts - with photos - but I cannot help thinking that this sort of post has had its day. Many restauranteurs forbid people to photograph their food before eating it, despite how much it cost. This brings up an interesting legal point - does the food belong to you before you have paid the bill?
Thank CHRIST that the cup-cake fad has had its day. What was all that about? Highly intelligent women were competing against each other in the mindless cup-cake stakes, and the icing on the cake arrived with the advent of edible sparkle. Whenever I saw someone eating a cup-cake with sparkle sprinkled on the top, I wondered if they also competed with each other as to who had the most attractive turds.
Some blogs appear to have been written by George and Weedon Grossmith. I find these the easiest to read, in much the same way I love looking through other people's ordinary holiday photos.
I miss the days of the old 35mm prints. It just isn't the same as scrolling down through a camera or iPhone. Whenever someone offered to show me the 36 prints that they recently brought back from Boots, I jumped at the chance - on the strict condition that there was to be no pre-selection, editing or running commentary by them as they looked over my shoulder. I would have to choose which ones I lingered over and which ones I passed over in a second, otherwise no deal.
Ok, I know I am going off at a tangent now, but I have just remembered the days when certain middle-aged couples would actually invite a few select friends around to their house to watch a slide-show of their recent holiday! Can you imagine?! What kind of a boring egomaniac would give a running commentary on their hotel in Southern Spain in the dark, whilst their long-suffering (but weak) friends sipped on a dry sherry and wished they were dead?
I am not going to tell you the name of the blogger with whom I have been sharing thoughts about others here - oh, all right, it was Rachel. Not Petra, Rachel - just to make it clear.
The most impressive thing about Rachel's blog is how she can insult everyone using taboo four-letter expletives, and how they come back for more the following day. I have to admit that she has been doing this less and less of late, but occasionally she returns to the old winning formula, and everyone is happy again. Every time I have called someone a c***, they have stormed off and I have never seen them again. Rachel entitles one of her posts something like, 'Why don't you all fuck off?' and people flock there.
Then there is the blogger who seems to think that everyone will be fascinated by the way they have decorated their bedroom. Maybe some are, but these could be the ones who do not have a clue about interior design and have to seek the opinions/instructions of personal dressers before they leave the house? (Did you hear the upward inflection in that last sentence?)
We can only do what we are capable of and, before anyone else points it out, I am capable of writing thousands of words about nothing on a daily basis, never expecting anyone to get to the end.