Wrap it up, wrap it up <does that choppy neck gesture thing>.
Does anyone know how to end things well? Drop me a line. I’m never very good with goodbyes.
It feels right to end things here as the last two years have gifted numerous natural conclusions (except this fucking pandemic, apparently). We said goodbye to 2021, I’ve been in Barcelona 10 years, I picked up my Spanish residency card, turned 50, it was confirmed that the ol’ lady tubes have most definitely dried up, and I’ve written ‘75 Reasons Why I Don’t Have Kids’ posts. Nieces and nephews are in university and driving all over the UK for their jobs, for crying out loud! I hit a milestone here too, with 20,000 views. It’s not enormous, but for a complete novice, it’s a pleasing number.
All of this is relevant. And none of it. Put simply, now is as good a time as any.
A chronic case of waning inspiration has gripped me for a while now. Honestly, the last five years have sucked the life out of me and kicked seven colours of crap out of my confidence. In everything. For the best part of the last two years it’s been particularly tough to write anything vaguely interesting or funny (some of you might say that was the case for the duration of this blog). And that’s the thing – I didn’t care before, I just wanted to write something. But now I care. I suddenly feel very naked. It’s a horrible feeling. There was the brief flurry of the ‘Covid Months’ (which stopped once I realised it was becoming the ‘Covid Almost Two Years’ and I’d be writing about cake baking and TV series for infinity), but apart from that – not a whole lot else. Which is, I believe, not great for a blog.
Turns out, trying to write about life without a never-ending string of bad dates, drunken all-nighters and casual pick-ups as your fuel is about as easy as getting Boris Johnson to fess up to the number of kids he has. And with no exhibitions to see, museums to visit, and limits on travelling due to Covid, that leaves the inspiration pool pretty parched.
How about I tell you how much I love going to the art workshop and the colour combination I’ve decided on for my lounge? Exactly. Truth is, I’m boring as hell. A fact that I’m perfectly comfortable with, but does not make for great anecdotes – either here or in social situations, as my poor friends have come to realise.
Not being able to write should have come as absolutely no surprise. Last year, I started seven books, which now variously decorate table tops and support lamps and candles. You know what I could see through in the last quarter of 2021? Candyfloss. Light, fluffy candyfloss. This bizarre time we’re living, along with menopausal brain fog, has rendered it impossible for me to concentrate on anything that wasn’t vomited up by Sex in the City after it’d consumed 40 boxes of Laudurée macarons. Emily in Paris, I’m looking at you. Thanks for the froth… and hot French men. Enough doom scrolling already, I just want to barrage my senses with feel good. Can I get my love stories intravenously? There’s enough bleak news out there as it is, without choosing to ingest it too. I want to inject rescue dog stories, kitten photos and air-whipped storylines directly into my eyes. Apart from cats on Instagram, there was the millionaire’s shortbread baking – of which I made approximately 13 metric tonnes. Reading a recipe was as good as it got.
So, rather than forcing it here, I decided to call it a day.
Writing under a “character” (of sorts) made it easier to put pen to paper. It helped me get past the ‘why the hell would anyone be interested in what I have to say?’. But the sudden and brutal self-consciousness that blind-sided me, also affected Anne.
I don’t know what’s next. This might morph into something else, it might not. If it were to develop into something else, that would involve finding my mojo again. I’m not sure that it just disappeared, I’m quite sure it actually died – a slow, painful death.
For anyone who read anything in these pages, I say a massive, heartfelt thank you. It genuinely made my day. One of the most enjoyable things has been seeing the long list of countries in which readers live. That was quite something. For those of you who followed the blog, I thank you for persevering and supporting me and adding your comments. You’ve all made it worthwhile.
For the most part, it’s been a hugely enjoyable part of my life. When it stops feeling like that, I think it’s time to move on.
So, with enormous thanks and love in my heart – it’s goodnight from me, and it’s goodnight from her. Goodnight.