By Any Other Name

“You should blog” they said.

“It’ll be fun” they said.

To be fair nobody said it would be fun, I came up with that daft idea all on my onesie. I wasn’t even sure what a blog was or what blogging entailed. Who can blog? Does one have to have some sort of training? Does one remain clothed throughout? What is the meaning of life? Why blog? I’m still not entirely sure but I’ll get the hang of it. I will . . . . I think. Maybe. Or not.

Anyhoo, for a while I would simply smile, nod, say it was a splendid idea then wander on my merry way and forget all about it. Then I met Mavis.

Mavis told me she was coming round to my house to set me up. Being a trusting soul I decided that she wasn’t about to steal the family silver or hide her drugs in my knicker drawer. I trusted that she was to set me up on here. Mavis told me she’d be round in a week and all I had to do was think of a name. Easy peasy.

Ha! What did I know?

I left it for a few days, no rush I thought. Then one day, whist the children were ignoring me, I went for a look see. I Googled blogging. Never Google anything. I know this so why? Why did I look? There are web sites on websites dedicated to blogging. There are websites that help you choose a name for your blog and there are blogs. There are many many blogs.

A little wee came out. What had I signed myself up for?

Right a name. What should I name my blog?

The rather too helpful website told me the name should give some sort of clue as to what I would be writing about. Great, I didn’t/don’t know what I’m going to write about so something mum-ish I suppose. No problem. Except it was a problem. Every name I thought of some brighter spark had already come up with. I had a friend on the case and she fared no better than I.

Mother Lode – gone.

Momfoolery – gone.

To name but two. There were scraps of paper everywhere with stuff, random words and a doodle here and there. I’d drawn the mother of all blanks.

Oooh, The Mother Of All Blanks . . . . . . . . . Nah, that sounded as though I wasn’t overly keen on my kids.

Each time a child walked past me I’d ask

“Quick, one word to describe your mum, go . .”

“Fat” said The Eldest. Hmm? I’ll see him later about that.

The Youngest was far less helpful.

“Well, sometimes I run and there were castles and peoples everywhere”

Great. Thanks.

One Friday night I was up till 3am, not partaying as one would hope, no, thinking up names. I didn’t even name my children, how would I name a blog?

Then, on the Sunday morning, The Youngest was sat on my knee amongst more sheets of paper with more stuff, more words and more doodles.

“Can I draw you a picture?”

I handed over my pencil, I’d lost the will to live by now anyway. I’d not wanted to blooming blog in the first place. Blogging could blog off for all I gave a blog. I sulked while The Youngest drew something. I needed an explanation, luckily she gave one saving me the embarrassment of having to ask when it was quite clearly obvious.

“It’s a sock”

“I knew that” said I unconvincingly.

“I know, I’ll make it a bath and some spinning things”

One Sock In A Bath. That’ll do.

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