My name’s Rob and I’m a blogger-holic. They say admitting it is half the battle. I’ve been away from home and computer-access for a week and I must say I’ve struggled. I’ve struggled with not being able to write and post anything for six days. I’ve struggled with the urge to look at my site statistics to see if they nose-dived in my absence. They did, but only a little. More a nose-hop than a nose-dive. I’ve struggled with seeing things on the news, having a thought about them and thinking ‘that needs a blog post written about it’. I’ve struggled with being inspired by phrases, words, or elegant language, wanting to work them into a post and not being able to. In short, Dear Reader, I’ve had a bad bout of blogger’s guilt.
I found, at least, that I’m not alone as the author of a blog in feeling this guilt at not publishing a post. Even though my readers are relatively few, there are enough of you that it worries me when I don’t write something. A couple of days ago, I had coffee with arch-blogger Hopi Sen and he confirmed that he gets the same guilty feelings as me. This came as something of a relief. At least I’ve not been on the Orwell prize shortlist! As lovely as recognition by your peers is, how much would that add to my sense of dereliction? Hopi also mentioned something I’d not really considered. He’s begun a regular series on a Friday so has that as an extra burden to push uphill like a Nottingham Forest-supporting modern-day combination of Pheidippides and Atlas. By the way, that series is well worth a read. It’s Hopi’s take on some of the very comical discussion threads on fascist websites. Though you should be careful if you choose to follow his links. I had a rather uncomfortable ten minutes the other week trying to explain to my human resources department why I’d spent my break looking at Stormfront. Still not sure they saw the funny side.
As I said, I’ve been away from home for a week. To be precise, I’ve been in That London looking for work. If you haven’t had the pleasure of hawking your CV around recruitment consultants, let me tell you it’s not fun. You should
probably go out and climb a tree instead. They were all very lovely and professional, but there’s only so many times you can be told you don’t have the ‘right’ experience before you start to get dispirited and down. With unemployment looming, I’m getting more nervous by the day about finding a job. Ideally, I want to work in politics. Hopefully for a Parliamentarian, so I’ve applied to lots of MPs and done lots of networking in Westminster. But it’s not easy getting knocked back over and over, and worse still when you don’t even merit a reply. (Though I must say that’s rare.) Luckily for me, I got to counter this potential feeling of lack-of-worth by having coffee with the very cheery John Bercow and his very lovely wife, Sally. Had a thoroughly nice hour with them both and got a tour of the official apartments which was great. May write more on that in another post. As well as the Bercows, I caught up with researcher mates and had few drinks in one of Parliament’s many bars, and also took the opportunity to get quite mercenary in pimping my CV to the many and varied people who crossed my path, from Office Managers to Oona King. All that may come to nothing on job front, but it was interesting and sometimes even fun. Anyway, writing this has assuaged my Blogger’s Guilt, at least for a day or two. No doubt, I’ll be driven to pen more of my own particular brand of inane drivel very soon.
If the blog title misled any of you, I’d say I’m sorry but I’m really not. The only scandal from my week was the price of a lunch in Southwark. John Bercow has nothing to do with fascists. Or blogs for that matter.
Oh and as I’m writing about pimping my CV, Dear Reader, if you hear of any job vacancies, do leave a comment for me!