It feels like there’s a lot of pressure on this post. Because this is the post after that post. Because my last post got picked up and featured on the Freshly Pressed website which takes samples of blogs from across WordPress and puts them out there for everyone to see, not just the few people I lure here every day with promises of chocolates* and the odd chuckle.
I first became aware of this at around 3am this morning when – for some reason – I found myself wide awake. In the old days, pre-mobile phones and the like, I would have just rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But nowadays, the modern era and its reliability on technology means that a 3am unexpected wake-up is the perfect time to catch up on Twitter, any Facebook updates and try to work out why you now have about 40 more email messages than when you went to bed.
What this taught me is two-fold:
1) Who knew I even had any kind of email notification on for things like this
2) When I resort to poetry for a blog it can pay off.
Because that’s the thing. There’s a hierarchy of blog posts here. There’s the rambling ones like this one, which cover something which has happened to me today or recently and that I have twisted into some sort of five-hundred word story. Then there’s the news-based stories. They’re my second port of call. If I can’t think of anything suitably amusing or pertinent to blog about I will turn to the news for my inspiration. Following that it’s invariably a story about the cats doing something. Or not doing something. Or just being cats.
And then it’s poetry.
If I’ve written a poem it means I’ve got an idea but it’s not enough to spin into one of these blogs so I take the idea and rhyme it a few times. Like today, for example, I was trying to be all suave and sophisticated when I got on the bus and proceeded to fall up the stairs to the top deck – well, more go to move up a stair but not actually go anywhere – and make a very strange noise indeed. Something akin to the noise an old person makes when getting out a chair, mixed with surprise that I was no further up the stairs than when I’d initially raised my foot. I could have written a poem about that. But I didn’t. Because I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I essentially looked like a nob.
So, this blog is really about what happened yesterday, and what is still happening judging by the emails that are still hitting my inbox (you really would think I’d have turned that off by now). So welcome to the new followers and welcome to the people who aren’t following but are maintaining some sort of casual watch over the blog like a friendly stalker. Or even an unfriendly stalker. A reader is a reader I suppose and makes this whole endeavour worthwhile. Welcome to you all. I’ll try not to disappoint.
I got on the bus and headed upstairs
But my foot didn’t reach to the next
I kind of fell forward and made a strange noise
Like an old person standing, but vexed.
What made it worse I think you’ll see
Is that I was first on the ride
So when I stumbled and suddenly stopped
People bounced off my backside.
A more mortifying time I couldn’t have had
Than to look like a tit on the bus
It’s hard to recover when you’ve stopped on the stair
And the people behind make a fuss.
I’d like to think no-one had noticed
That I got away with it, scott free.
But that’s not going to happen now is it?
Not when the person involved here is me.
* There are no chocolates