I’ll admit that I have not fact-checked the title, but there must be a fighting chance that Karl penned some sort of letter on June 28th. However (and there’s one in the eye for Michael Gove), there can be no doubt that tomorrow is a red letter day for GofaDM. One (of the many) alternative titles for this post was “When blogs collide!” for, in little more than twenty-four of your earth hours, my blog soul brother and yours truly will finally meet “in the flesh” at a location rich in historic resonance.
The most eagerly anticipated encounter since the Rumble in the Jungle, though hopefully with less bloodshed (I certainly don’t plan on going down in the eighth) and probably with a smaller live audience. Every lifeform within the light cone of central London must surely be holding its breath (or local equivalent) for the first truly great event of the third millennium of the Current Era (and those beyond must be desperately seeking the tachyon). A day that will go down in (and possibly on) history.
In my forty-nine (and a bit) years on this unfashionably damp lump of rock, this rendezvous is without precedent. Given the extraordinarily wide-ranging interactions we have enjoyed via WordPress, in some ways I know my brother better than people I’ve known for decades – where more traditional conversation rarely takes such Byzantine pathways through language and the human experience. There is definitely something to be said for each participant in a conversation being allowed a thousand words or so before their interlocutor is required to participate (and perhaps some preparation time and access to a small Reference Library): I, at least, can achieve a much higher level of superficiality and/or foolishness under such circumstances.
Heretofore, our passionate, literary affair has been pursued entirely in text (and some judicious application of his legendary Paint skills on the part of my brother), like some modern day, blog-based Abelard and Eloise. Like them, our interaction has scandalised a community – and almost spawned a new Widget for WordPress (I believe A+E spawned more traditional issue). I trust that unlike them we will both be left physically intact and free from constraining convent walls – one can take historic parallels too far.
Given the hype, today I find myself in a frenzy of preparations for the main event. Is it too late for plastic surgery? What should I wear? At my age, I generally only meet new people when suited and booted – but this seems overly formal. Following this week’s Thinking Allowed, should I affect the black roll-necked sweater with a Gitane(s) perched insouciantly between my lips (a plan which will be fine unless I light it, at which point my pretence at left-bank, intellectual sang-froid will be cruelly exposed by a coughing fit). Alternatively, having massively enjoyed Victoria Coren-Mitchell’s recent series on How to be a Bohemian (if you missed it, you should really seek it out on iPlayer) should my dress embrace the avant-garde? Should I go with the round glasses or the square? (For the Playschool massive, I will admit that I have no arched glasses – yet). Traditional advice would suggest that I should “be myself” (or avoid that altogether), but who am I?
On reflection, the ship of first impressions sailed long ago and Vlogging a Dead Horse does rather reveal my lack of sartorial depth. That is the problem with so extensively blogging my existence, there is little that the determined reader cannot deduce about the author by this stage (though I continue to remain an enigma to e-marketers – and myself). So, I think I shall dress for comfort (rather than style – as if this latter were ever an option) in a manner compatible with the forecast weather conditions.
Unusually, readers may be offered two different points-of-view on the epochal events of tomorrow. Or I suppose we could live-blogging the whole day? (If that is even possible with WordPress). This could mean that I have a little less licence than usual when preparing the narrative for the GofaDM audience. Alternatively, we might just both agree to lie outrageously about what happens in the desire to build the legend.
Eternity, here we come!