Although I’ve never made much of an effort to publicise this blog, over the years it has slowly acquired several hundred followers. Knowing that there are people who read it makes me feel more of a responsibility about weekly updates, and if I haven’t any ideas or haven’t got time to write anything, I’ll try at least to find a bright flower photo or something, just to reassure people that I am still around.
I feel guilty, then, when I fail to post anything at all, which is what happened last week.
I’ve been going back and trying to collate old poems and I’ve come across several I scarcely even remembered; this one seems particularly appropriate given the lack of recent words on the blog. So, here’s a poem for National Poetry Day: Continue reading “where are the words?”
It’s Sunday evening and I still haven’t posted anything on the blog this weekend. I’ve been out and walked and taken pictures – it was the most glorious morning here today – but I haven’t written anything. There are too many impossible tasks to deal with at the moment and the words seem to have slipped through the cracks.
So, with impossible tasks in mind, I thought of squaring the circle, and from there it was a short jump to this photo: And from there it’s a short jump onwards to an old poem which has appeared both here and elsewhere on the web before, but seems relevant enough to justify reposting:
The lives of parallel lines are uneventful:
no sudden twists or unexpected turns disturb
their single track monotony. And yet they dream
of non-Euclidean space where rules are bent
and of that infinite horizon where, at last, they’ll coincide.
Concentric circles, on the other hand, have
no such hyperbolic hope. They know their limitations.
Destined to be solitary cranks, they circumlocate,
make roundabout excuses and observe their fellows
from a distance. They never socialise.
Once again, I’ve sat down at the computer today without any ideas about what to write. My suitcase is lying on the sofa behind me, too full for me to close it; my desk is almost hidden under an assortment of papers, cables and chargers, and shoes and sandals are liberally scattered across the floor. So far, none of the work stuff or shoes are in the case, which is a wee bit worrying, and nor is my ticket among the papers.
There is clearly still a lot to do if I am to catch my train in a couple of hours time.
So I’ve found an eight-year-old photo which fits well with the idea of travel, as well as being fairly topical – it was taken at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta in 2005. (Why do I have a complete set of 2005 photos on my laptop? Might this tendency to hoard give an insight into why my case won’t shut?) This year’s festival starts on Thursday.
I was surprised this week to be told by the WordPress robots that I registered this blog six years ago. (If they are right, I must have fudged some dates at the beginning as the first post is dated 23rd April 2007.)
During those six years I’ve written over 750 posts. Some have featured photos and very little text, but some have straggled on well beyond the 500 words that I think is a good maximum length for a blog post. This means there’s probably enough text in this blog for three full-length novels – one written every couple of years – without any great effort on my part. Continue reading “a point to writing”
This isn’t the busiest blog in the world, and I don’t suppose it will ever have a huge audience, but WordPress send me notifications of new followers and likes, and it’s always nice to think that a post has appealed to readers, even if it’s impossible to know exactly why.
I check the stats page to see if I can find out a little more about who is reading and clicking, but this often poses more questions than it answers. I happened to look just after midnight the other night, just after the numbers had been reset, and this is what I found:Dear visitor, whoever you are, can you tell me how you managed to travel half way round the world in a matter of minutes and why you read six pages of my blog from three different countries?