There’s one thing I find hard and that’s asking for help.
Asking for help from my 15-year-old, Sonny, to help me set up this blog is even worser.
He has just whizzed through all the ‘customise your site’ thing at a million miles an hour, whilst singing the same tune maniacally over and over again ( at least it wasn’t Phantom of the Opera this time) Clicking, clicking, dragging and then..”remove”. Whhaaatt??
I was so good. Such a good Mummy. I said nothing. I have no idea, still, how to upload a photo, or to change the massive photo of me in the ‘about’ section.
“Why has everyone else got a little thumbnail picture Sonny? Why is mine like a giant ?”
Click, click, refresh, click, bang, Done.
“There you go. You can start writing now”
Exits back into his room to look at his new phone controlled lights (that his Dad, Brian, set up for him might I add)
So. Here I am then. At the end of the day, its just a blog isn’t it? Nobody is even listening. Yet. ( I’m an optimist)
You don’t really need to know all about the complicated nerdy language, do you? No. Even if I have paid for the premium thing? No. It’s fine. Just write the blog. Ok. ( this is me talking to myself which I do constantly. Tell me you do too ??)
You know what Liz? You could have figured this out by yourself probably. And you wouldn’t have the giant picture of yourself .. But. I wouldn’t have got my boys attention for eight minutes either.. and guess what? I forgot to tell you.. he gave me a kiss and said “tut tut ..have you been spending money on the internet again ?” and then smiled as he winked at me. And that was worth eight minutes of the same verse of “one call away” being sung in an absent-minded high soprano, click, click, dragging, any day.