Saturday, September 17, 2005

Reflecting Reality

Reflecting Reality

As has happened so often I knew exactly how I was going to start the blog entry:

There's some saying about you knowing you're getting old when the police (the law enforcers rather than the group) start looking young. I'd like to ammend that to you know you're getting old when the Policeman in your living room says the following:

[holding radio upside down as it makes a collection of increasingly random noises] "These new radios - they're pants".

Pants? As an adjective? By a Policeman? What is the world coming to?

But if I knew that was how I wanted to start the blog entry, I also knew that I couldn't leave it standing as it was. It's one thing for me to drop in an annecdote about a dummy named Malcolm, it's a whole other issue entirely to drop in one which has a subtext like a Policeman in my living room. And if I dropped that in, I knew it would be unfair to dangle it and not explain. And I also instinctively knew that I couldn't explain. I can't explain. Not because I don't want to, but because it's not my story to tell. But if I'm being honest, if I'm going to keep DA as a reflection of my life, then it deserves its place in here. Because I suspect that Wednesday's events - and I would press that of the story that I'm circling the policeman (and his pants) were only a tiny, not actually that important part - will live long in the memory. And things will be ok, will get better, simply because I believe that they always do. But that doesn't stop me worrying.

But the pants story isn't the only thing that's made me think about what I decide to write on here. Jen told me that she thought that my blog on Castleton's Summer Dance was "restrained for [me]". I wasn't even aware of the restraint when I wrote it, but when I re-read it, possibly in the light of the over exuberant account I'd written to Jen, I saw exactly what she meant. I'd censored, held back, for a combination of not having the appetite currently for my blog to be picked over on the personal message system of and through the Griffin protection code. I thought that I'd dispensed with that on here, that I could be honest but, maybe because during the life of this blog my contact with Griffin has been minimal and more often than not refracted by other people, I'd forgotten how the Griffin code emerged. It wasn't about hiding fan trouble or pushing to one side the negative experiences and feelings. It was, at least orginally, about being discreet about Griffin in the face of him at his most indiscreet. It wasn't that I was hoarding from other fans, but that there's a line - even from the very first time I met him - that had to be drawn. I wrote the blog entry I did because I knew there are a group of readers here who would want to hear what I had to say about the experience. Who would want to hear a bit about Griffin and because I've always been a sucker for an appreciative audience it was my instinct to give it. But the whole jist of the evening wasn't really in the style of one of those reports that I used to write. It was more relaxed, Griffin wasn't the popstar, there weren't signing queues, there was simply Griffin singing Brown Eyed Girl as people danced, not even aware of who was singing. Had I been blogging objectively I'd have blogged a conversation I only alluded to and probably nothing else; it had enough of the comedy, of the ridiculous and a little bit of wonderful, to - in any other circumstances - have made its way as one of my half over heard blogs. But I couldn't. Because it was Griffin. And I do wonder why I feel like that. Why I should feel like that here, when I've never been asked to sign the official secrets act. But I did. And I still do.

Maybe this is simply symptomatic of a larger issue I'm having at the moment. I couldn't blog about the inccident five minutes into my first night at the WYP that had me reaching for all the Malcolm training we'd had because I'm sure there's something about confidentiality in there (though I don't think it extends to ice cream confidentiality). And I like the WYP. It smells of theatre. I'd like to work there for at least the next year. Equally I didn't blog the events around my dispensing with the day glow orange jacket out on a building site part of my admin job, despite the fact that this made me very, very happy indeed because i) the building site had a funny smell and ii)I was properly beginning to hate going there. Whilst I have no desire to work for any longer than what I'm contracted to at the Construction company, they are paying me and were good enough to move me to the office full time when I said there was no way that I was going back to the site in question. I read Dooce. I know it's not a good idea to bitch about your boss.

So I think, I need to realign what -or how - I write in DA. I'm never going to be able to blog about everything that's going on, little or gigantic, but maybe I needed to write this entry to assert to myself that I will continue being as honest as I can. I've never wanted anything fake or half felt to appear here.

Next time I want to blog about the Policeman and his pants, or Griffin and Edinburgh, or binning a day glow orange jacket, I will do. I might not be able to explain everything, or give everything its proper context, but I will be honest. Let's call that the DA Code*; just like a supermarket price promise but without the cheap beans or buy one get one free offers.

*Ah, there's something else to put under my 'Team DA' aspirations. **

**You know I'm going to make DA mugs one day.


Nik said...

i would like to put in an offer for DA they come with free coffee?!

Nik said...

when i say offer, you know i mean order...

Corinne said...

Ah, that's your Christmas present sorted. ;-)