And So It Begins.

I’ve somehow managed to avoid blogging. Until today I suppose I saw no real need to engage in such a self-indulgent waste of time. What changed? I hear you ask. What made such a godly soul decide to partake in the woefully self-centered activities of the mere common folk? I hear you cry. Let’s just ignore, for a moment, the fact that I’m apparently hearing voices; strangely eloquent voices from the early 18th century… apparently.

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Anyway, the thing that made today that one ‘special day’ for starting a blog? Selfies. That’s right, the seemingly unrelated act of taking selfies seems to have tripped some kind of ‘let’s join the human race’ switch in my brain, leading me to the thing I’m doing now – writing rubbish for no one to read.

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So, what do I intend to do with this ‘ere blog ‘o’ mine? (and yes, I am just going to leave that ‘selfie’ reason hanging there with no explanation). Well, I thought it was high time people saw just how the mind of a crazy person works. In this blog I shall endeavour to show you my inner, and outer, weirdness in all its shining glory. You’ll take a walk with me through all that it means to be a weirdo, as far as I’m concerned. Share my views, my musings, my ponderings, my philosophications (I just made that there word up), and anything else that means ‘thoughts on stuff’.

As a self-published author, I’ll also share stuff (you’ll quickly learn, I like the word ‘stuff’) relating to my books. I shall, of course, be surreptitiously trying to get you to buy said books – but we’ll say no more about that.

Basically, I’m a weirdo, as the title of this blog infers. I don’t have a problem with that, though some folk I’ve crossed paths with seem to think it’s the best way to insult me, showing how little they ever really knew me to begin with. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not some crazed lunatic, howling at the moon – well, only on Sundays. I’m simply ‘different’ from most folk. I’m not the kind of person that makes friends easily – nor wants to. You don’t invite me to your wedding, your birthday party, or your pub crawl. Certainly not the latter, as I don’t drink. I mean, I’d be a cheap friend to take along, but I’d also be that one that made you feel awkward as you downed your sixth vodka and coke while I sat there spinning a beer mat and looking for the toilets.

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