I am "interesting". Don't you think? I do such an interesting thing. Blog. Did I mention I have a book deal? That is interesting isn't it? Let me tell you about it. Let me tell you about blogging. Really. I am such an interesting person. You will never guess what I did this week. I sheared a sheep. Before I sheared the sheep, I chased a fox. Have you realised yet what an interesting person I am? Oh yes, I picked a fight and moved a house. These are the things you do when you are interesting. I could tell you a story or two. Oh yes, I could tell a tale of ghosties and goulies and things that go knock in the night. I could reach out for your hand and have you gulping down your sorrow, then traitor to your tears, make you laugh at my jester wit. If you listened that long. You would have to listen. To me. Me. Me. I am worth listening to. I might have to ask: "Have I told you this already?" Even if I have, you might not mind because after all, I am interesting. I haven't always lived here. Once upon a rainy days, I lived in London town. Did you know that? Do you read my blog? It is an on line diary. They are very popular these days. Mine is anyhows or used to be. And a book, I am writing a book if ever I find the time in my full and busy life. I sometimes ask myself: "How do I manage with the kids and all?"
But I do. I will tell you about it if you like. At length.
I have become a man. As a woman, I would have conversations. I prefer not to do that any more. As a man, I am free to lob my anecdotes in your direction and fully expect you to catch them. I have not yet become a character. I am as yet too young for that; doubtless it will come. As a man, I do not expect to have friends. They take up so much time. Time which I could spend being interesting. Time I could spend telling you about myself. A friend might disappoint. I prefer to avoid disappointment. I know people up here though, oh yes. Quite well: some of them quite like me. And I know more of them than I did. Not just my builders either. I have drunk tea with some, broken bread with a few. Obviously, I earned my place at table. "This is Wifey. She moved from London and she blogs." Cue my witty take on Northern life. But friendship, ah friendship, that is another story. Not mine.