Now I don’t want to blow my own trumpet but I am no ordinary writer. This means a number of things but probably not what you are thinking I think it means. What it means is:
One: I have absolutely no desire to talk about writing on my blog unless it’s in my usual disparaging way because, let’s face it, some writers are so up their own backsides they probably haven’t seen daylight for twenty years and I’d rather not get caught up in those long debates about commas, adjectives or self-publishing v trad publishing. If I feel the need to vent I can go onto another writer’s blog or, alternatively. I can make up a pseudonym and comment on culture articles over at The Guardian.
Two: Having thought about the terms “author” and “writer”, I think it is stretching it to call myself either. I prefer “entertainer.” This means I may yet subject you all to a video of me pole dancing in a Hawaiian skirt whilst reciting Ode to a Grecian Pasta Dish.
Three: It means I can use this blog to rant about any subject I please.
Which today is…
People Who Invade My Personal Space.
Okay, so here comes some examples:
1. The Good Mr T.
Oh wait a minute – I signed that marriage contract. It’s legal.
2. Those really irritating people in the swimming pool who, even when the rest of the pool is empty, will come and swim right next to you so you are either:
a) Forced to inhale their surf up your nose and end up having a respiratory attack.
b) Forced to inhale the vast amount of the perfume/deodorant they have sprayed over their head and neck. (For what purpose I don’t know – maybe to ward off evil spirits or marauding sharks.)
I have yet to question one of these perfumed swimmers on their motives for spraying a whole bottle of cologne or hairspray over themselves prior to submerging themselves in water but I fully intend to one day – when I stop gagging.
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| There’s always someone where you least expect them… |
3. Those even more irritating people who, even though the car park is empty, will squeeze their car so close to your’s so that you can’t get back into the driving position without climbing over the passenger seat and hauling your ass over the handbrake.
4. Charity collectors who harangue me in the street. Look, I am no meanie. I given to lots of charities. And I’ve adopted six stray cats. That proves I am sucker for a sob story. But please do NOT wave your bucket at me when I am weighed down with bags and only have two minutes left before my car parking ticket runs out – I need all of my two minutes to climb in the passenger seat and over the handbrake.
5. People who nudge their knees up to me in the cinema. Please just keep your knees to yourself. Unless you’re a seven foot tall basketball player I ain’t gonna believe you can’t keep your legs together unless you have a very, very large third leg.
So there you have it. Another rant from Mrs T which concludes with the thought that personal space-invaders should probably be shot on sight.
(Not Mr T obviously- that would be counterproductive as he pays the household bills which allow me to indulge in this wanton waste of time.)
I know that was a somewhat dramatic statement. However, if you have ever encountered all four of these space-invader specimens (especially on the same day) you will probably feel the same way.
I really should be in politics.
