Loyal readers might be concerned that I have been trapped in a drain and my pathetic mewings have not been audible enough to attract the attention of a passing fire fighter. No such luck.

Most loyal readers will also understand that there really is no point writing anything while on night shifts because it would just be an unintelligible babble of over emotional self indulgent commiseration. And who wants to read that?

Would now be a bad time to mention that I don’t really like the word “blog”? My dislike is in fact so intense that I hesitate to use the word to describe what I’m doing. My favourite in-law tells me I have very articulate pauses in my speech, it’s easy to hear the word that should be there which I have instead been considerate enough to exclude from the sentence or to see the cogs turning inside my brain while my thoughts are displayed quite plainly via the medium of facial tics. Therefore, if a colleague were to accost me at this very moment and ask me what I am doing my reply would be something like “I’m…*pauses to a) think of a better word and b) decide I can’t think of one quickly enough and c) become extremely unsettled with an appearance of digestive discomfort*…blogging.” I almost hate myself just for typing that word.

What is it about this word I hate so much? Firstly the sound. It’s a bit of a cross between blag and bog, neither being particularly pleasant words. This causes the second problem: the image of someone talking a load of ship biscuits while on the toilet. It could be that I’m not far wrong with that image, for much of the content on the internet it may be best if they get it out of both ends simultaneously thus saving themselves time for more productive activities such as going camping, dredding their hair or writing an academic thesis. Which leads to my final problem. The assumption made by the writer that anyone would be interested, a thought crime I have taken care to avoid. For me the pleasure resides in speaking with a different voice, the inner voice which is rarely heard by anyone other than myself. If it is read and enjoyed that is every bit a bonus. The fuzzy glow I get from making someone snort milkshake through their nose following a well placed witticism makes the pain of self exposure worth while.

It is necessary then to find a new word. And what do I like more than making new words? Not much. With a little help from Someone Who Always Has Time (I don’t know how she does it) we have determined that the word monologuing is a slightly better fit but now that I come to writing it down I see there may be some problems with spelling. Besides, I would like an entirely new word. At the moment, I’m living off the undeclared glory of “safety poms – the pompoms on my hat which, when tucked into my coat or scarf prevent me from losing my hat when I briefly remove it for cooling purposes.” But that feeling won’t last forever – I need a neologism.

Instead of a new word, what do we have? An unintelligible babble of over emotional self indulgent commiseration probably. I’ll go away and work on it. Suggestions on a postcard please.

Total so far…
I haven’t stepped out of the night worker’s parallel universe yet, I wouldn’t want to warp the stats with a points/anti-points collision. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for destroying the universe now would I? Although if I was no one would know (for long). The perfect crime…