Oh me, oh my. I’ve had quite the week.
It all kicked off last Friday with an unexpected email from Harper Impulse (stalkers may recall that I wrote a guest blog for them back in August) inviting me to a little shindig they’re throwing called Autumn Fete. It’s their way of getting their authors, readers and guest bloggers together, and put faces to names, perhaps a bit of networking, that sort of thing. I didn’t have to even consider it for longer than it took to read the email. Prosecco? Canapes? Free books? Oh, well, gosh, now, let me think…
Then there were A Few Other Things… cough… Both online and in real life, which were not so fantastic and I did not handle so well, although I am secretly quite chuffed that BOOBIES ARE FOR WINNERS LOL championship winning knockers lady and friends showed themselves up so beautifully.
To try and restore order, I wrote a loveletter to The DivineComedy, which must have been the longest time I have ever spent in putting a post together because I kept having to stop to listen to the songs. And then edited out at least half of what I’d written, because it read as though I’d written a list of every song TDC have ever recorded and then said why I loved it.
And then there was Thursday. Or The Day of The Slithy Gove’s Cumface. It’s a good job I ate a jar of coffee that day because, frankly, spending most of the day google image searching in pursuit of sex faces should only be attempted when you are completely off your overcaffeinated tits and have RUUUNNNNN to YOOOOUUUHOOOHOOOO as an earworm.
On Friday (this is starting to read a little like ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’) I shattered the mental equilibrium of twitter by sharing The Cumface of The Slithy Gove, which made me snicker and hate myself in equal measure. I think I earned that glass of wine. And then a tweet mentioned me. WHAT. IN THE NAME. OF HEAVEN? I’VE WON A TICKET TO MUMSNET BLOGGERS NETWORK BLOGFEST. I actually screamed and clapped a hand to my chest, as though George Osborne had materialised next to me. And I think I burbled incoherently for a few hours, but it’s all a bit of a blur. There might have been some ‘Dance of The Overwhelmed Woman Going to Blogfest’ happenings, but Alistair is trying to spare me the flashbacks. On Saturday morning I got up stupidly early to see if Bobby Ewing was going to step out of the shower and reassure me that yes, it was all a dream. Instead I got the early morning sleeprumpled face of my boyfriend peering confusedly at me as I sang along to Camera Obscura with hair swishing antics, jabbing at a tweet on my phone and yelping ‘Iiiiii’m going to BLOGFEST!’
So yeah. BLOGFEST BABY! See you there (I'll be the one in the Ed Balls mask).