A Head for Hospitality.

You see, this is what I do. I’m walking across a car park having a conversation with some disembodied person who’s taken up residence inside my head about just how deep the question ‘Who am I?’ goes, when I think: ‘This should go onto the blog.’ Only it doesn’t because it’s all vanished into the mist by the time I next sit in front of my computer.

So then I ask the question: ‘If Americans can claim they sent a man to the moon fifty years ago, how come they haven’t invented a memory stick which plugs into your ear and records your conversations with disembodied persons?’ Are there no laboratories? Are there no software houses?

Tonight’s episode of House was about a blogger. She and her husband/boyfriend, or whatever he was, were arguing over the fact that their private life was being made public for complete strangers to read. ‘How fortuitous that I don’t have a partner,’ I thought. ‘How convenient that I was never the marrying kind.’ And then there was further discussion about whether you can get to know a person better over the internet than you can by meeting them in the flesh.

It all went over my head, of course, because nearly everybody I can claim to know talks to me across cyberspace. And that’s pretty much the same as being a disembodied person settled snugly inside it.

I bought some pansies for my garden today. Never in my life have I bought pansies, but these guys climbed into my head and begged me to give them a home. How could I resist?