I’m scouting around for things to write about that aren’t the fairly uninteresting daily life I lead. I do want to keep up with that, not least because it’s a useful reference for me. For example, I tell you – whether or not you’re interested – when I buy a new dishwasher, which is a note for me about when I bought it, without having to go to the ineffably sensible lengths of actually looking up the receipt. When I was thinking about my illness last December, I discovered that I’d not told you anything about it, which unusual reticence meant that I had to write it all down – I say ‘had’ but it was a choice, of course, because I knew I’d forget details – more recently.
I know, because you lovely readers have told me in the past, that you like me writing about my past, or that of my family. I am also uncomfortably aware that I used, years ago, to be funnier. I’m writing most days, you may have noticed, in the hope that I become better at it, as I know I used to be. I don’t have any writing ambitions beyond blogging, but I’d like to entertain at that, to whatever extent I’m able.
So, I’m best when it comes to reminiscing and to just generally waffling to mildly amusing effect. But I’ve rather run out of things to reminisce or waffle about. Hum.
Actually, that reminds me of a story about the WI. Tomoz, darlings.