I've been thinking about the nature of blogging a lot recently, and the manner in which people go about it. It was sparked by reading a friend's blog, all about infertility - which is wonderful, but not for the faint-hearted. I love it because she tells it like it is...there's no sugar coating here, just bleak, dark humour and sheer rage. Amazing.
I'm not very good at writing that kind of confessional stuff, even anonymously. And I guess I'm aiming at the sly, wry glance at life, and the deeper darker stuff doesn't fit. What you get is lots of wittering on about daily life in suburbia, with a cross-section of meanderings about cake, JRT and the delights of two-year-olds. Oh yes, and a bit of work-related nonsense too. Angst-ridden, it ain't.
I've got an idea for a new blog, though, which I think I shall start shortly. Called the mag project, I plan to review every magazine I read over the next year. I come across several - some in the line of work; many in the course of junk mail or shopping in the supermarket; some I even deign to buy. Actually, it's just an excuse to go round buying all those exotic-sounding magazines (especially the food-related ones) that lie untouched on the shelves at Borders. You never know - it might liven up a dull March.
On a slightly different tack, I came across a blog about a play today, written by Carina. This post, Wallsend's Chesil Beach, is beautiful.