Diplogmacy

You know sometimes you really, really, really want to write about things, but unfortunately someone implicated in the situation you're writing about is quite likely to read your blog?

Well, most of the time it doesn't matter, not to you, because you're talking about lovely, lovely people, so it isn't an issue. Except you aren't me. And unfortunately, my strongest skill set is bitchiness. So I have to edit my own posts.

Yet, there's something strangely anonymous about blogging. Strange, isn't it? Broadcast to the entire world, with my name and picture attached to it and yet here, with me tapping away at the keyboard, alone in my flat, it feels entirely serene. Secret. Special.

And unfortunately I've never been a great diplomat. If something makes me laugh, I tend to say it, regardless. This is not always a sensible thing (see the Bum Deal and Annabelle posts). Where possible I try to change personal details. But sometimes it's the thing itself that makes it identifiable.

So today I can't bring you the Plog I wanted. It involved the Edinburgh Festival, anal sex, rain, half ping-pong balls and the word "sin". And it made me laugh until I almost did a fart. But sadly, it will have to remain secret. Sorry.