A number of friends and acquaintances of mine have blogged before.
Some for many years. Some more temporarily.
Some are impressively well written and topical, others more conversational and funny, recounting their day to day lives.
Where does this blog fit in on this blogging narrative?
Well I have no idea.
Perhaps in a week or two the novelty will have withered and I’ll be stumped for topics to write about other than the people on the bus on the way to work in the morning (actually now that I think about it, that is probably among the more interesting elements of my day – I have been on the new bus route for a week and a half now and I am starting to recognise some people, and it’s always interesting to eavesdrop on their conversations – not that it is actually eavesdropping. If you want to chat about your child custody arrangements on a crowded bus, like the woman beside me this morning then you may as well be shouting through a loudspeaker on O’Connell Street. People  can’t help but listen. )

Or perhaps I will just be writing more occasionally.

As it is new, I am writing every day at the moment as it’s an interesting experience see how many people are reading my blatherings. This may be egotistical but if so, then what of it (as Eve Harrington said to Margo Channing in the 1950 black and white film classic ‘All About Eve’, when confronted about her true identity)

A few people have told me that they think I have a decent writing style and that I should do more of it. In an ideal world I would be attempting Limerick’s answer to ‘War and Peace’, and that is certainly something I intend to do at some point (not to write Limerick’s version of ‘War and Peace’ but at least make an attempt to write a story of about 250 pages which comes in its own front and back cover – y0u guessed it; like no-one has ever wanted to before, I want to write a book.

Nice idea for sure, but I have tried before and it is very difficult t0 sustain the enthusiasm and imagination necessary to complete such an endeavour. It’s down to a lack of discipline. This I know. So with a jolt of dull cunning, I thought that a blog could be a useful way of exercising my writing muscle. A more thorough way of vocalising ideas and opinions than Facebook is.

It certainly seems less instant than Facebook. And even after 4 days I can see that the daily statistics are dropping. But I can easily ignore that. I am not writing for validation as a human being – I could simply write some Facebook status about my triumph over some fake adversity if I was looking for that.

I want to practise writing and it seems to be working so far.

Of course I’d be delusional to pretend there was no self-interest involved. About 3 years ago I went to Australia for a holiday and during that time I kept a diary, noting the things I had done and the people I’d met and the places I’d visited on both east and west Australia, over the period of a month.

As I was discarding all but the most precious contents of the last 15 years spent in Amsterdam, last last year as I was preparing the move back to Ireland, I came across the notebook. It was fascinating to read it. Most of the experiences I had forgotten, but when reading about them 2.5 years later it took me back in my head, in a far more realistic way than would otherwise have been possible. (It is very sad incidentally that the Reclaim the Lanes parade in Newtown, Sydney seems to have failed – it was a protest against the corporatisation of the hippie district in Sydney and it has apparently failed miserably as the city government in Sydney recently imposed a lockdown meaning that nightlife in Sydney stops at 1am).

Having been back in Ireland for 5 months now and back in Dublin for just over 2 months and having lived with a mattress-sniffing flatmate from hell, I can honestly say that this reintegration into Ireland is a daily rollercoaster. Everything is strange and new and often stressful. And in my head it shouldn’t be – I am Irish, I grew up here, I lived in Dublin before, I still have friends and family here. But it is strange. I know that this feeling is temporary and that this tme next year I will probably be reading back on these meanderings wondering what the hell was I thinking, and that I made the right choice to come home to Ireland.

Or maybe I will be back in Amsterdam or Limerick (or elsewhere) looking with rose-tinted specs at how lovely Dublin is, and I’ll be reminded how awkward it actually was.

Whatever happens it is a record of a time. And whether I am writing this blog next year (or next week) it is something worth doing for now.