Thanks a lot, Twitter

As ever, I have been stuck for anything to write on this blog. In this position, I decided (unwisely as it turns out), to ask the community on microblogging social network Twitter for advice. Now, these are a friendly bunch, full of intelligent conversation and not the inane lot that Twitter’s detractors would have you believe in. But, some do have a cruel streak I think – given the variety of strange and near-impossible blog subjects they recommended. The problem I have now, given they took the time to make suggestions, is I feel I have to uphold my end of the bargain.

If you are a twitter user, the usernames of those who recommended a subject are included below, with links to their pages – should you wish to follow them.

The first of many responses to my plea came from ‘Foxiehaha’, who recommended a post on the spring weather currently parking its warm and airy behind on the UK. She asked me to examine the feeling that the end of winter has on the psyche. The onset of spring is a key time for sufferers of Seasonal Affective Disorder, plus the rest of the population who prefer to say ‘I don’t like being cold’. The prospect of longer days, more sunlight and warmer temperatures fills people with contentment. It never occurs to the majority that often this means cooking in your stuffy office wishing you were outside. For me, the first signs of spring are a puzzling time, when for the first time in months, it occurs to me that it is pleasant to be in the open air. It takes some getting used to, this feeling. As does realising that its fine to relax and enjoy it without feeling guilty.

More difficult subjects were starting to roll in, with ‘RealTamster’ posing a question about how to liven up proceedings in the cafeteria at lunchtime. This is a hard one because I don’t know what it is like, where she works or who she goes with. The one thing I do know is that she holds strongly feminist views, which is one reason my suggestion to perk up those lunches may seem odd. Buy the Sun newspaper.

While never a fan of the Sun, if I recall my days of real work and cafeteria lunches – one of the people I dined with would always have a copy. It would always provide entertainment, although not in the traditional ‘gazing at the naked flesh’ way. A variety of games can be played, including counting how many problems the Sun can lay at the doors of asylum seekers. Did you know these scrounging fellows are responsible for the economic crisis, youth disorder, Legionnaire’s Disease and David Beckham’s metatarsal injury?

The Sun once came in handy as a prop, when a friend of mine and resident of Basingstoke was asked a question about the geographical whereabouts of his home town. Using the newspaper, I pointed at the top right hand corner and gave this as a reference for Newcastle Upon Tyne. In a similar fashion, the bottom right hand corner was used to denote London. I asked, with my prop, where on the page Basingstoke would lie. Studying the paper scrupulously for some time, my friend eventually posed the question ‘so where’s Reading’? Mind you, this is the same friend who after I’d commented I’d had a nice Lamb Bhuna, stated ‘Lamb Bhuna? That’s a bloomin’ girls drink’! Apparently, he was thinking about Lambrini.

Things didn’t get better (for me) from there. My next challenge was to tackle the suggestion from ‘MrGorianDray’, on what the effects of the economic crisis were on insects. His hypothesis concerned bees struggling to cope with storing honey in their hives after a fall in sales of the sweet substance. I could say it could cause serious problems to the world’s flora, given the reduced pollination that would ensue from a cutback in nectar collection flights. But that would be to admit to seeing Jerry Seinfeld’s animated Film, Bee Movie.

While entirely more sensible, my next subject presented some an encompassing theme that I realised I’d struggle to narrow down. A subject that has been covered in many books – the childhood experience in England. This came from ‘josephdalby’, who had given me a real challenge. When I think back I could touch upon many things. British Bulldog, the Roger Red Hat series of books, being on the receiving end of ‘The Slipper’, or the year council staff went on strike and the playing field grass was higher than our young heads. Instead I have only chosen to relay one anecdote which still strikes me as unjust, no matter how distant a memory my schooldays are. Anyone with the surname Warnes will empathise with me here. My dad came into my room one night to investigate why I was sobbing away. ‘People have been teasing me’ I tearfully explained. ‘Oh dear, what have they been calling you’ my dad enquired. ‘Warnesy!’ I sobbed. Oh dear.

I still have about twenty subject suggestions I haven’t touched upon. And I will get round to those later.