Brutally hungover after the halfwitted nonsense of yesterday.
Fortunately I'd already decided I was going to take tonight off work. No more news from these people. They originally said they were going to come up tomorrow. I sort of hope that's not the case though as my house is a bit of a f#cking mess at the moment. I feel the need to play down expectations a little bit here as well. It might not turn out to be anything much. I really don't know the full details of it.
I'm pretty certain it'll drive up hits to this site though and as a result I've finally sorted out the web address of this blog. Margerrisons.blogspot.com will still get you here but I've now also got the much snappier www.nicholarse.com. This doesn't mean there are going to be any changes to the site itself it just means that if you choose to spread the word about this blog it's easier for you to do so. I'm still going to use www.blogger.com as the host site and there's no plans to change the layout either.
Also, my videos are a lot easier to find now as well: www.videos.nicholarse.com. That should take you straight to my YouTube account. Me and the lady sorted it out after a fair bit of messing around.
I feel quite excited to have a proper web address for the site. It feels like a proper thing now. I have an odd relationship with this blog. Sometimes I totally forget that anyone else reads it. That's never a good thing. It's been going for over a year, 483 days to be precise. If I suddently stopped writing it I'd feel like a little bit of me had died. It's an odd thing. The reason I'm thinking about that is because it's one of the questions I was asked by the bloke who is setting up the ITV thing; "why do you write it?". I couldn't think of a good answer at the time. I've been trying to suss it out ever since.
It's not money that drives it. There's obviously no money in a blog like this. Firstly, I'd hate to put up adverts here and secondly I think the people who read this would immediately see through me plugging something. Unless it was my fantastic gym. They'll never cotton on to that scam. I don't like to think it's raw ego though. It might be, but I'm pretty sure if that was all that drove it I'd run out of readers pretty sharpish and my drive would die down in the end.
The more I consider it the more I get into absurd pretentious territory where I start to remember the period I was at in my life when I started writing it. This thing was born out of the sense of total isolation which I felt during the peak of the talkshow nonsense when there was literally no-one on my side other than the listeners. A massive audience but a crisis at every step.
Without wanting to sound too flakey I think it's a little human voice shouting out and seeing if anyone cries back. Bit like the talkshow was.
F#ck I'm hungover.