A thought struck me the other day. I've never actually liked the word 'blog' it's naturally modern but as word I find it a bit clinical, and it certainly doesn't demonstrate the splendid array of words that can be contained in them like a novel or short story does. It's my love of these things called 'words' that has made me want to write one.
I've always preferred letters over numbers. There's just something beautiful about how you can bundle them together to create wondrous words, the wonder being the power they actually posses. Dependent on where they sit in a sentence, they can ether tickle your funny bone or pull at your heartstrings. I don't think numbers have that affect (well there's the recession) but it's not the same reaction. I can't remember anyone gripped with laughter repeating the number 26, or indeed anyone ever remarking 'I haven't heard that number in years.'
Words do indeed fall out of fashion, but that's nothing but the by-product of time, and indeed part of their charm and the picture they can paint. It's all about context. Such words as 'Divine' or 'languid' that now conjure up images of Twenties opulence, the sipping of a cold Gin and Tonic in between puffs from a cocktail cigarette, were once new and only so as they were uttered by these bright young things.
Naturally this is all subjective, although I am assuming you are a fan of the written word if you have got this far. As I am a fan, I have favourite words, such as marvellous, idiotic and vinyl. Discombobulated is a very good one, but perhaps I have always really favoured frivolous. It's because I like being it. I remember being in a temp job and being asked where my boss was, to which I said I was trying to get him to sober up before our next meeting. It's actually on occasions like that where I could do with a sign that said 'frivolous' so people at least know to laugh, or not take me at my word. Although sometimes I wish they would. I did really want those two connecting meeting rooms changed to 'Sly', and 'The Family Stone' respectively.
To avoid being frivolous for a second, I did actually start this blog (there's that word again) by talking about words and why I favoured them over numbers. I am aware that they are beautifully different, but for me, the fundamental difference is that while both of them can be manipulated, the numbers always have to add up. Words aren't like that, they don't have to add up, and they have so many different meanings.
So whether you like to listen to your favourite voice on a page, or out of your home speakers, take a moment to actually listen to what that person has done with those letters. They are indeed only words and you've probably used quite a few yourself before settling down to this. Go and use a few more. Start with frivolous.
On a break from thinking about rapiers, I was heading to the shops when I spotted something odd on the pavement, which on closer inspection turned out to be an elderly woman who had suffered a fall. By luck, I wasn't alone and thankfully my girlfriend had done some nursing so expertly leapt into action, ensuring her head had some rest from a folded coat and comfortable enough on the kindly donated blanket that she now lay on. I had dashed back to the flat to secure a coat to drape over the slightly frustrated maiden.
I can't speak for you, but the age in my head doesn't reflect the physical age that everyone sees. It was exactly the same for our stumbled granny, disgruntled at the pensioner legs that wouldn't line up with her independent thinking. She aired more puzzled frustration at the now sadly regular examples of will and body not working in harmony as we waited for the ambulance. If I was to be sensible, she shouldn't have left her flat, but then again, who are we to question or dampen someone's thoughts? No doubt she'd pulled this caper off countless times before, returning unscathed to the oblivious sleeping cat.
Imagine reader that you are reading this story in real time and there was still no sign of those sirens, despite several queries as to its arrival. This was the case and so with the maiden having stumbled no more than 500 yards from her flat and stating that she wasn't going to lie on the pavement any longer, the only humane thing was to help her walk back to her flat. It was a slow, methodical walk, steady steps, a little slower than when someone is drunk.
So with the good deed done and the formerly crumpled maiden now secured on her comfy sofa, all that was left to do was for her to wait for the ambulance and the heroic duo to take their leave.
One of the main things I learnt from this is that people are either incredibly kind or incredibly selfish. The latter was sadly highlighted by what can only be described as a moronic dad. I use this word (and would sadly use a nastier one) as he freely let his toddler cycle near to us as we tried to walk our maiden back to her flat.
Obviously I wouldn't want to spoil this tale by focusing on him, nobody can factor in a gene pool oddity, but it just goes to show that this life is really all about perspective.