Wednesday, 25 March 2009

Dear Kitty

It seems like just recently I have been surrounded by diary's, no I have not been searching thought my mothers hidden draws looking for a beautifully decorated book, full of her deepest darkest secrets/embarrassing photos/criminal past? They are just every where ... I guess Twitter is a kind of Diary, according to wikipedia: Twitter is a social networking and micro-blogging service that enables its users to send and read other users' updates, known as tweets. Tweets are text-based posts of up to 140 bytes in length..." BLAH, BLAH, BLAH – you get the gist.All you need to know is that the big three are on it: Obama, Britney and Stephen Fry, basically everyone who matters. Twitter gives you a fascinating insight into the inner workings of their minds, their deepest fears, hopes for the future, evaluation of past mistakes. (I'm kidding, they post unreasonably banal sentences about potentially interesting things. Apart from Fry, who always finds time to say something awesome, such as: "Watching proboscis monkeys feed. My dear, the noise...".

It seems like even all my books I have recently read seem to be about peoples journals, (yes I'm a big reader, but don't hold that against me) Cynthia Lennon, I'm with the band, So when do you realise that your life is so important that you have to write it down, is it when you are in your 60s and you get asked to recall your life, you thank god that you wrote down all those Witty antidotes, and you get to brag about how amazing you life was, how you were very naive but you loved every second. It seems to write a good diary you need to be married to a rock star or become a Groupie and have it off with a rock star then write about how bad they were, and how you ran away from your strict 1950s upbringing and become a flower child. Both these options sound very appealing to me, and I do sometimes wish I was Cynthia Lennon or Pamela Des Barres, but come on my life is not nearly going to be as eventful as theirs. If I kept a diary it would probably read :

"Went to school, I am suffering from growing pains (ouch) stayed after school,
FUN !! "
and even that would be riddled with spelling mistakes (thank god for spellcheck) and it would surrounded by drawings of anchors and birds and the odd scribbled poem, I admire my brother and that he can by a pad of paper and fill it with rubbish, when all I can muster is my name written over twenty times, but it is in my best handwriting.

So when I decide to get a life I am going to go out and buy a leather bound journal, and in years to come it shall be full of brilliant tales, postcards and photos. Well one can dream x

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