I seem to have been on a Blog-battical for the last few weeks. Life getting in the way. But now the writers’ strike is over, there’s really no excuse is there? No picket lines to cross. Oh, you mean I don’t get paid for this, never mind royalties? Still, we creative types have to stick together, to show some solidarity. So now the red carpet’s been rolled out, it would be truly churlish of me not to acknowledge, finally, much overdue, with tears rolling down my face and thanking the angels in the city – where was I? – not to acknowledge an award from Potty Mummy. I’m not sure that I deserve this, given my recent silence, but I’ll accept it gladly. And I promise not to compare it to my agent’s buttocks. As if.
To quote from Potty Mummy, this award originated with a Canadian blogger, who stated: ‘I love being a part of the blogging community and part of all the friendships that I’ve formed, so I wanted to give a blog award for all of you out there that have Excellent Blogs. By accepting this Excellent Blog Award, you have to award it to 10 more people whose blogs you find Excellent Award worthy. You can give it to as many people as you want but please award at least 10.’
I would happily pass these sentiments on to another 10 bloggers except that most of the ones I read have already done their acceptance speeches, as far as I can make out. And I’m sure it’s far too frivolous and blingy for the likes of those serious edubloggers of the Edubuzz community. Although maybe Alan would like it. And Mother Soup. And perhaps it would encourage Mumble to write some more posts. And I’ve no doubt Tess can handle bling.
Meanwhile, the weather’s been lovely, evenings are lengthening, and the snowdrops and crocuses are out. It might snow next week but the birds are singing and spring is well on the way. Time for a clear out and we visited my brother’s flat in Edinburgh a couple of weeks back for just such an exercise. Now they’re living abroad, they’ve decided to rent the flat and sell the various vehicles that are lurking in the garage. The flat was clean. It was tidy. It was minimalist. Pale colours. Although in fact the colours aren’t quite as pale as they were before the infamous curry was spilt across the sitting room carpet. But still, I’m sure you get the picture.
Sigh. We came home to our untidy, anything but minimalist, over-crowded clutter, with a cooker that still needed cleaning (I’ve finally done it, by the way). Hire a skip I thought. I could put it outside the sitting room window and just turf all our belongings into it. Maybe have a yard sale. We never throw anything out – perhaps it’s time to start. The trouble is, to achieve that degree of order and minimalism, I’d have to start with the children. I’m not sure it can be done just yet. But perhaps, when we come back from holiday, I’ll start a big clear out. Of things, not children.