The First Post

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So this is my first ever blog. I’m wondering who will read it. Well I guess it will be you! I hope. Of course if no one reads it, it will just be me, reading something I’ve published on the internet, feeling pretty proud of myself. So the “you” to which I refer will actually be me!

But ignorance is bliss.

I’ve felt compelled lately to write a blog. I don’t know how long it will last but I do enjoy writing. I’ll just write something as and when I feel the urge to do so. I’ve got a good friend who writes a blog and he finds it very cathartic. He’s even got some followers! On the internet that is. Not literally. He’s not a religious guru or a prophet! Just a normal bloke from Birmingham called Malcolm.

I’m not generally miserable but I’m intending to use this blogging jazz as a platform to vent about things that are generally pissing me off. I’m hoping it will be amusing to those who read it and I promise I won’t always moan. I’m sure I’ll be compelled to write things that inspire me and amuse me too…. sometimes.

So who is this grumpy young bloke then I hear you (or me) ask. I’m a 31 year old man living in a glorious little town called Dudley on the outskirts of Birmingham in the UK. You may or may not have heard of Dudley. One of it’s most famous sons is the comedian (I use that term loosely) Lenny Henry. But if you have heard of it, It’s probably not because of Lenny Henry. It is probably because it is shit.

It’s a shame because there are some endearing features of Dudley and I’m proud of my industrial heritage. But what remains is usually the butt of my jokes. I affectionately refer to it as the Miami of the Midlands. Sarcastically of course.

I hate my job. I’m a battery hen in the insurance industry. Most of my job is being moaned at, shouted at and if I had a pound for every time I’ve heard the phrase, “What’s the point of having insurance?!” I’d be a millionaire. Well, I’d have enough for a good holiday at least.

But besides spending 37 and a half hours of my life a week professionally apologising to people and trying to calm them down, I shouldn’t moan really. I’ve been lucky enough to find my soul mate and we are engaged. Luckily she finds my little rants amusing. I also love, music, art, photography, comedy, fresh air and general creativity and I’m blessed to have some great friends. So as much as I have a little rant, it’s not all doom and gloom. I’m not that much of a miserable git!

But over the last 12 to 18 months I’ve noticed a change in myself. I’ve definitely got a little bit older but not necessarily wiser. I fear that I’m turning into a middle aged man already!

The evidence speaks for itself. I own a pair of slippers; I’ve started buying a paper daily and not the comic trashy papers with breasts, celebrity gossip and angry propaganda against ethnic minorities, an actual decent paper; I listen to radio 4; I prefer to wear shoes rather than trainers and I find children noisy! Don’t even get me started on the fact that I’m losing my hair, my nose hairs now grow at a rate I struggle to keep up with and I’ve had to learn the finer points of ear grooming. No one ever prepares you for this!

I remember once standing in a queue for a cash point. I was stood behind a man and my attention was drawn to the way the light was flickering and reflecting off something long, thin and extremely straight. It was a hair protruding from the man’s right ear. I was in awe and had a little chuckle to myself.

But karma is very real. If I don’t keep a check of my ear grooming needs (I actually stopped to check whilst writing this!) then someone will one day stand behind me in a queue for a cash point and chuckle away at the long wiry hair protruding from my ear.

Gone are the days of “hair product” and shampoo ( I shave my head now ) and any time spent in front the mirror is not for the vain styling needs to try to look trendy and attractive. It’s to prevent any embarrassment from a random hair. Have you ever been in a conversation with someone who has a renegade hair fighting against the natural flow of the rest of the eyebrow? This one hair does not want to conform. It will stand out in defiance. The person is talking to you and as they do your eyes keep wandering towards the maverick hair. It’s mesmerizing. You have to compose yourself and try to maintain eye contact but it keeps drawing you back. “Look at me!” it shouts. “I’m over here, protruding from a weird angle, at 45 degrees in not only the opposite direction to the rest of the flow but also outwards toward you!” You are in a battle with yourself fighting the urge to stare at it.

But you don’t want to draw the persons attention to the fact that you’re struggling to keep eye contact. Because, we’ve all been that other person too.

It’s horrible when someone isn’t making eye contact with you. Their eyes are drifting off to some other part of your face. If it’s not someone you’re pals with, you can’t exactly ask them either. You just have to sit through it trying to hold a conversation, maintain your poise whilst thinking “Shit! I hope I haven’t got a weird protruding eyebrow hair again. Shall I stroke it? Regain control of it? No don’t! It will only make them know that you know that they know that you know and that’s just embarrassing.”

Isn’t it funny how we don’t want to make others uncomfortable sometimes. I say sometimes because there are times when we do want to make people uncomfortable don’t we?

But I’ve blabbed on enough. It’s time for me to settle down with the soothing sounds of the shipping forecast and a Horlicks.

I shall write again soon.

Good night for now!

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