writing

Tuesday Tiny Tale -Writing Exercise

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments

The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.

Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.

Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.

It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…

‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’

I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.

…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away

‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’

‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.

Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…

‘What town, thought they were isolated.’

That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.

…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.

As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.

‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’

‘No, it was autumn.’

‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.

‘Morning Miss.’

She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.

‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’

Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.

His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.

‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’

‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’

Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.

‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’

‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’

Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared

‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’

‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’

‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’

‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’

‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘

‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’

‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘

‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’

‘When was that then?’

Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?

Silly Sunday – Words Weird and Wonderful

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

JUST WORDS, NO PICTURES…

DO YOU EVER HEAR A WORD ON TELEVISION OR RADIO, EVEN ON THE NEWS AND THINK IS THAT ACTUALLY A REAL WORD?

Coronated? What happened to Crowned? But then how did the crowning event turn into a coronation?

CIRCUMAMBULATION? CAN’T YOU JUST SAY CIRCLING? It does especially mean walking round a sacred object in a ceremony.

Do you ever write down words then forget the context or what they mean?

Encirculate? Who on earth said this. Probably not a real word, a search comes up with encircle.

Fabulate – to tell a tall tale.

Reheterosexualised – I can only find heterosexualised – which I think can be taken to mean that it is assumed that when you get old or need to stay in a care home it is assumed you revert to being heterosexual. When I came across reheterosexualised it referred to family reinventing the life of the deceased loved one to reclaim them as heterosexual.

Now for words easier on the tongue…

FURTLE – When I heard someone on Gardeners’ Question Time ( BBC RADIO 4 ) talk about furtling around in the compost heap, I knew exactly what she meant and was keen to use it in my writing. ‘To gently delve; to probe or rummage tentatively.’

Metafiction – I confess I had to look this up when another cleverer blogger used the word in a comment on one of my stories. ‘Metafiction is a form of fiction that emphasizes its own narrative structure in a way that inherently reminds the audience that they are reading or viewing a fictional work.’

Today on the radio they were talking about a trend in France to become part time farmers to get away from stressful jobs in the city. The commentator used a phrase I wished I had thought of, though I might well use it for one of my characters….’Those of us who are purveyors of words and tabulations will see the attraction of escaping to a farm.

Have you seen or heard any unusual words lately, or even better, invented some yourself?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Meaningless

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 22 Comments

Sean sat staring at the blank screen. This week’s challenge for the Poison Pen Writers was to write a story without meaning. Now he was regretting being the one to suggest it. There had been much philosophical discussion at last week’s meeting, could there ever be a story with no meaning at all?

He could write a story about himself; as far as he could tell, his life had no meaning, but that would be a very dull story.

Poison Pen Writers was a cutting edge group that met in a crumbling old hall the council were trying to demolish. They had been expelled from the library before Sean’s time when Jago had forgotten to take his medication. Sean  could well imagine that some members could be easily misunderstood, most of them were rather odd, but they were all very interesting and amusing. Sean was the only boring one and he took a vicarious pleasure from their chaotic and adventurous lives, past and present.

The screen was still empty as his mind wandered over the past year with the group. He forced himself to type.

John woke up to another day, at least he assumed it was another day as he was in his bed and sunlight streamed through the curtains.

As he dipped his toast into the soft fried egg, it reminded him of nothing at all.

On the bus to work he looked at the other passengers, they did not look at him.

As he walked into the large office building he heard a voice call ‘Hey John’ but it was a woman hailing someone else called John.

At his desk he logged on to the computer.

As he logged off the computer he wondered where the day had gone.

‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked a colleague.

‘Nothing’ he replied.

‘Nor me.’

On the way home he looked out of the bus window, but it was raining hard so he couldn’t see anything. He looked at his phone, it was Tuesday, so he would stop off at the fish and chip shop.

As he walked into Harry’s Plaice Harry greeted him. ‘Evening, usual?’

‘Yup.’

‘Good day at work?’

‘Same as usual.’

That night John got into bed, another day over.

Sean glanced through what he had written, then added the title Meaningless. Hopefully it was, he pressed Print.

Blogger Recognition Award

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

Many thanks to author and blogger Mary Smith for nominating me for the Blogger Recognition Award 2019. Mary has led a very fascinating and varied life, so her books and blogs are well worth reading. You can read Mary’s Blogger Recognition post here.

https://marysmithsplace.wordpress.com/2019/12/20/marysmithsplace-the-blogger-recognition-award-a-thank-you-to-bloggers-who-support-so-generously/
Sally Cronin created this design for the award.

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Here are the guidelines attached to the award.
1.Thank the blogger(s) who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
2. Write a post to show your award.
3. Give a brief story of how your blog started.
4. Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
5. Select up to fifteen bloggers you want to give this award to; often bloggers throw this guideline open for awards, especially when everyone is busy with Christmas or just busy… So I am nominating the Spirits of Blogging Past, Present and Future… These three spirits are imaginative, helpful to other bloggers, considerate, kind and often very amusing, in fact very like the bloggers I follow…
6. Comment (or pingback) on each blog to let them know that you’ve nominated them and provide a link to the post you’ve created.
If you want to help the Spirits out, join in the award or just answer an end of decade question in the comments – find the question after my answers…
1. How My Blog Started: My first blog was on Goodreads and I called it Sandscript, I wrote quite a few and I guess they will float around in the ether for ever… But I realised that everyone else was on WordPress and having more fun, so I started Tidalscribe with the aim of trying to blog at least once a month, now it’s three times a week at least. The reason for blogging? Anyone who writes a book is told to do that, but blogging quickly becomes more than that.
4. Advice for new bloggers.   A. Read lots of other blogs, follow bloggers that are interesting, engaging and helpful; make interesting comments and engage with them – this is the best way to learn about blogging.
B. It’s your blog, so you can do what you like, it’s not school. Post words and pictures about what interests you, but will also appeal to others. Most of us don’t make pots of money selling our books and we would soon lose followers if we constantly hit our readers over the head with our latest novel. Your blog will be on the internet forever – perhaps – so make every blog your best writing, you never know who might be reading it.
Now the Question, don’t think for too long, just answer in the comments.

What will your first blog for 2020 be about?

Friday Flash Fiction 440 – Stopawhile

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments

Not as sweet as sugar, smoother than chocolate, more luscious than a peach; neither food nor drink. That is how I would describe it. There was no description on the menu; it didn’t appear on the menu at Stopawhile. Ravi told me it was the nectar of the gods when I first tried it.

‘What a perfect description’ I replied, licking my lips in satisfaction.

‘No, it IS the Nectar of the Gods’ he said simply.

You couldn’t order, only wait until it was offered.  Ravi was the only member of staff to serve the nectar; come to think of it, there were no other staff.

It was a new café, where the old hairdressers used to be; the shabby blue and white had become warm brown and orange. Inside you could slip into a cosy corner, relax on a leather settee and linger as long as you liked. There were newspapers and exotic magazines, wooden chess sets and marble solitaires. The nectar deserved to be sipped slowly.

This was an ideal place to flop down with my shopping and sneak out my notebook; recharge my batteries before going home to tackle dinner. The nectar, in its delicate pottery bowl, seemed to stimulate creativity. My writing group were impressed with my short story and urged me to send it off to the competition, I won. I began a novel.

Of course I recommended it to other people, suggested friends come with me next time they came round. Somehow no one else happened to go that way.

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On Monday afternoon I staggered off the bus with my shopping, cold, tired, with blood sugar level zero; I was looking forward to my visit to Stopawhile. But it had gone; not closed down, disappeared. I thought I must have walked past it and retraced my steps. Bank, charity shop, greengrocers; it should have been next, followed by the bakers. I stepped into the greengrocers feeling bewildered; perhaps they had bought the little café and expanded into it during the weekend.

‘What’s happened to Stopawhile?’ I asked.

I was met by blank stares.

‘You know, the café next door, it was there on Friday.’

‘You mean the one up the road?’

Flustered, I bought a bunch of bananas and stepped carefully outside. On the pavement were the usual stands full of fruit and flowers and next door was the bakers. I stepped inside the tiny shop and tried another tack.

‘Have you moved shop?’

‘Not in the last hundred years.’

‘But what’s happened to Ravi and the café next door?’

More confused expressions. ‘If you’re looking for a café, try the Cosy Teapot up the end of the high street.’

liebster-award

 

 

Silly Saturday – Secrets of Sleep

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 23 Comments

You’ve had a busy day so it should be easy to go to sleep. A good dinner has left you relaxed. You get comfortable and your eyelids feel heavy. Voices become murmurs in the background, pleasant music lulls you into blissful sleep.

Yes, the easiest place to fall asleep is in the dark womblike embrace of the theatre, concert hall or cinema. Only a sharp dig in the ribs will disturb your deep slumber.

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At home in bed you are wide awake and alert. Writers are not the only people to suffer from insomnia, they are just the most likely to ignore the advice of sleep gurus.

No coffee after two o’clock in the afternoon.

No food after 5.30pm.

Turn off all screens by 8pm. – In winter it will be dark by then and your body clock will be telling you to go to bed.

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Writers often eat late because they are too busy writing to get to the kitchen and cook. They then take a nice strong cup of coffee to their computer to catch up with social media, where everyone else in the world has either just got up or is enjoying a relaxing afternoon. Your brain is more alert than it has been all day, you feel a blog buzz coming on; you can do it; you schedule tomorrow’s blog and finish the last chapter of your novel.

You look up from the computer and realise everyone else in the house is fast asleep and creep around hoping no one catches you up. But you are a writer and a grown up, you’re allowed to stay up late…

 

At 4.55am you are awake again and daren’t even think how long or short you have been asleep. You read your Kindle to relax, good thing the sleep guru can’t see you. Sleep eludes you for a simple scientific reason, your brain won’t stop working. It will not stop working till you are at work or in the shop trying to remember what was on the shopping list you left behind.

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And the next time you get a good sleep? When you sit down to watch your favourite television programme.

Are you a somniac or an insomniac?

sunshine-blogger

 

 

Liebster Award

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 5 Comments

Thanks to Ribana of Popsicle Society for nominating me for a Liebster Award and I must apologise for taking a while to answer her questions. You can read Ribana’a answers to six intriguing questions here.

https://popsiclesociety.com/2019/04/01/liebster-award-2/

Find out more about the Leibster award here. Liebster in German means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome and aren’t all our fellow bloggers like that!

https://theglobalaussie.com/the-liebster-award/

More Flowers 2

Not every blogger wantS to do awards or be nominated, but anyone who wants to have a go, I’m challenging you to the five questions Ribana gave me.

Ribana’s Questions:

  1. What motivates you to keep going and chase your dreams?
  2. Would you risk your life for an extreme adventure?
  3. Are you happy with your life, with the place you live or would you change something?
  4. Have you travelled to Asia? How do you find it?
  5. Are you a sweet or savory person?
  6. DSCN0283AND HERE ARE MY ANSWERS
  8. What motivates you to keep going and chase your dreams?
  9. I always wanted to live near the sea; I achieved that, now I want to keep on writing, material success is very unlikely and not as important as the creative part. Meeting other writers in real life and on line keeps me motivated.
  11. Would you risk your life for an extreme adventure?
  12. The answer to that must be NO as I haven’t. I do love nearly being blown off the cliff top or getting as close as possible to pounding waves, but that hardly compares with climbing Mount Everest or rowing across the Atlantic!
  14. Are you happy with your life, with the place you live or would you change something?
  15. Yes I am, I never did get a horse, but perhaps I wouldn’t be very good at riding. I wish all the branches of my family were closer.
  17. Have you travelled to Asia? How do you find it?
  18. Alas I have only touched down at airports back and forth between England and Perth, Australia. Karachi, Bangkok and Singapore. One of my many jobs in previous incarnations was working in business class lounges at Heathrow Airport. Singapore Airlines were the best, lovely passengers.
  20. Are you a sweet or savoury person?
  21. Both, sweet treats are only a treat because they contrast with our main diet which should be savoury.

 

The Right Writers

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 13 Comments

‘So you’re going to go into a room full of strangers and read a piece of your writing to them?’ said Cyberspouse, aghast, with no idea of what I would read.

‘I guess it’s like Alcoholics Anonymous’ I replied.

I had found a phone number in the local arts directory; at last we were living somewhere that actually had an arts directory. The only piece of new writing I possessed was the article written for the local newspaper’s annual competition be a journalist for a day. It was titled The Oldest Profession in the World, which actually referred to being a stay at home mother. The tutor at the writing group said The Echo probably was not ready for my sense of humour and little wonder I was not one of the five chosen for a week of guest reporters.

The group met weekly except for a summer and Christmas break and at each meeting we read our work and handed it in for a short written critique to be received the following week; a simple formula that spurred me on to start writing short stories. This is the group I still go to, same tutor, a few of us who have belonged for over a decade and lots of interesting characters who have come and gone for a variety of reasons including final departures. Along the way it was suggested I try a novel…

There have been other groups I have tried, looking to broaden my outlook and find out more about publishing. One group met in a coffee shop; the other writers were varied and interesting, but the woman who ran it spent a lot of time talking about herself, the coffee shop was noisy and she expected us to give her £5 for the privilege.

A good while ago a creative hub was started very near to where I live, the altruistic landlords charging a peppercorn rent. I imagined meeting all sorts of creative people, perhaps somebody with their own publishing company – all writers can dream. The woman who ran this group read her own work, which wasn’t very good, then one day decamped from the hub, taking half the group with her and telling one of the remainers she could run it. We carried on and we’re still going, a tiny core of enduring members. Along the way we were thrown out of the original building when the admin person’s ‘issues’ came to the fore, met at each other’s houses, then disbanded and reformed at the library to be rid of an obnoxious member. We have had some very strange people over the years, some only coming once or coming too often. But there have been good writers we were sorry to lose.

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One of my local writer friends has never set foot in a group and prefers to stay home writing; he has written a lot of books. But most writers seem to enjoy meeting others; it is energising and a good way to get feedback.

Some groups produce their own anthologies and run competitions, alas not ours. There is so much great writing I have heard and novels unfinished that I was looking forward to reading; proof indeed how important it is to preserve your writing, self publish or print and keep it safe, but don’t abandon it.

We all belong to a big global writing group, WordPress and other on line worlds, but do you find it helpful to meet up with real people locally at groups and conferences, or do you avoid them like the plague?

Most of my short stories were inspired by topics given at writers’ group. I have published four collections of  short fiction.

 

Friday Flash Fiction – Novel

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 2 Comments

‘Are you alright Laura, you look worried.’

‘Oh Jason, I wasnt expecting you. Yes I’m okay, just having a genre crisis. She doesn’t know whether she’s writing Orange Booker or chic lit. I don’t know whether to talk about my tortured past or shopping.’

Jason massaged her shoulders. ‘I know the feeling; am I the romantic lead or the hapless victim in a darkly comic thriller? We just have to go with the flow.’

A sharp rap on the door broke into their thoughts. Jason opened the door and a man of about forty, with a crumpled suit and close cropped hair, marched in uninvited.

‘Sergeant Jenkins, CID; am I addressing Mr. Jason Wood?’

‘Yes’ replied Jason curtly.

‘Do you own a vehicle?’

‘No.’

The sergeant frowned. ‘That’s one line of enquiry gone. Do you recognise the man in this photo?’

‘Yes.’

‘His name would be…?’

‘I only know him by sight’ replied Jason, suddenly gasping as he felt a sharp pain in his head. He sat down and closed his eyes, trying to ward off the dizziness. Laura gently laid her hand on his arm.

‘Its okay, she just wiped that scene off the screen, you’ll feel better in a moment. Come on, we’ve got to get to the tube station.’

‘Why, where are we going?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Laura ‘but she wants us out of the office.’

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Ten minutes later Jason and Laura were running down the escalator, squeezing past others less hurried. As they approached the archway into the tunnel they heard the rush of wind and squealing of brakes that heralded the arrival of another tube train.

‘Mind the doors.’

They were too late to push through the jostling crowd on the platform. Jason swore in frustration, but Laura pointed to the indicator board.

Circle Line 2 minutes

‘That will do, but I don’t know how she expects us to be there in ten minutes.’

‘That’s her problem, not ours’ Laura reassured him.

The couple squeezed onto the next train and stood pressed together near the door. Laura smelt the sweet scent of aftershave and sweat; she smiled to herself, she was going to enjoy this chapter. They clattered along and at each station it was a struggle to stay on the train as passengers pushed past getting on and off. At last Jason motioned to the door and grabbed her hand as they stumbled onto the platform. They surged with the crowd to the long escalator and finally arrived at the station exit, but as they stepped with relief out onto the street a familiar face appeared, Sergeant Jenkins.

‘Perhaps you would both care to accompany me to the police station.’

The couple hesitated, tempted to make a dash for it, but settled for playing it cool and followed the policeman to his office.

‘Don’t know why you two are so nervous, I just need your help; private detectives can be very useful.’

Jason and Laura looked at each other in surprise, but before they could protest he handed them a piece of paper and a set of car keys. Jason frowned as he read.

‘Cornwall? We’ll need a map book.’

‘Sat-nav in the car,’ replied Jenkins, ushering them out of the door ‘you’ve got my mobile number.’

‘What are we letting ourselves in for?’ exclaimed Lara as they got into the car.

‘I don’t know, but I’m up for it,’ Jason winked ‘perhaps a weekend in the country is just what we need to get to know each other better.’

The sat-nav voice was irritating, but the long journey was pleasant.

‘Strange,’ said Laura ‘I’d forgotten it was autumn.’

‘What happened to summer?’ replied her companion.

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As they drew up outside a little cottage the couple felt almost in a holiday mood. The key was under the pot and they looked around carefully as they entered.

‘What are we supposed to do now’ pondered Jason.

‘I remember’ smiled Laura putting her hands on his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her.

‘Oh Jason, I’m really warming to this scene, I’m glad we came here.’

She felt his hands ardently exploring her body and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. He slid his hands inside her blouse.

‘How far are we supposed to go?’ he murmured.

She did not answer, instead she closed her eyes and let her hands slide down further.

Suddenly Jason clasped her hands and pushed her gently away.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked huskily.

‘I’m not sure, its too soon… I’m sorry, I think Im suffering from performance anxiety.’

Frustrated Lara turned away. ‘You’ll just have to fake it then, otherwise we’ll have to start the whole chapter over again.’

The tension was broken by the sound of the door being thrust open violently. A wild eyed scruffy man waved a pistol at them. They stood paralysed with fear.

‘You won’t get hurt if you just tell me where the stuff is’ said the stranger.

‘We don’t know anything,’ pleaded Jason ‘let her go, she hasn’t done anything wrong.’

The gunman turned his head as they heard the sound of tyres on gravel.

‘Put the gun down’ said Sergeant Jenkins, standing in the doorway, unarmed.

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The stranger pointed the pistol and fired. The policeman lay crumpled in the doorway as the gunman stepped over his body and escaped. Jason fumbled for his mobile, while Lara knelt in the spreading pool of blood. She tried to apply pressure to the gaping hole in his side.

‘Just hang in there. No that sounds like an American movie. Don’t try to talk, the ambulance will be here soon.’

‘Laura, where’s that piece of paper, the control room want to know where we are?’

She held the hand of the policeman as he struggled to speak.

‘Sergeant, we don’t even know your first name.’

‘I dont have one,’ he groaned ‘we never do in novels.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, I should have realised.’

‘Jason, tell them to hurry, we haven’t got much time’ she pleaded as the sergeant closed his eyes.

She prayed someone would press SAVE before it was too late.

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Novel is one of the flash fiction tales in Someone Somewhere

 

 

 

 

 

 

Help! I’m Living with a Blogger

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 5 Comments

You are sitting watching the football cup final you’ve been looking forward to all week, or catching up with your favourite soap and a voice keeps disturbing your enjoyment with remarks such as the following.

Fifteen Likes

I’ve been reblogged in German

My first Hugs

Oh, another new follower

Seven flags, the map’s looking good this evening, Palestinian Territories, Thailand…

You are living with a blogger and need to get help.

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If you are both concentrating on a Scandi Noir drama your beloved blogger will still sneak a look at their phone or iPad and ruin the tension by missing the sub titles and asking what they just said.

Kindly ask them if they would like a cup of coffee before the news comes on and there will be no immediate response.

 Oh sorry, I was just making an intelligent comment on someone’s blog.

It’s important to try and draw your blogger back into reality and engage in conversation. ‘When shall we invite Debs and Dave round for dinner?’

What? Hang on, I’ve got to reply to this comment.

To check if they are listening to you at all try some test remarks. ‘I’ve ordered that £4,000 pound camera / designer handbag, Amazon are delivering it tomorrow, will you be in?’

Okay.

Or be more drastic. ‘I’m leaving you.’

If they remain glued to their screen or start laughing it’s likely they have not listened to you for at least a week.

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A get away from it all holiday may be a good idea. But tell Blogger the taxi / train / plane will be two hours earlier than it actually is, because they will not pack until the last moment, too busy scheduling blogs so their ten followers won’t miss them.

 At last you will be sitting looking out over a beautiful lake or more adventurously climbing a mountain pass. Look behind to see if Blogger is still following you; there is no sign of them. They have to keep stopping to take photos for the blog series they are planning on mountain walking.

Later, when you are sipping your cocktails and warming up in front of a roaring fire or cooling off on a tropical veranda, you will hear a cry of anguish, they can’t get any wifi. You remind them their blogs are scheduled, but they still want to check if the blogs have gone on, if they have any Likes or comments. They also have to read the blogs of the two thousand people they follow.

In the luxury hotel room you can’t afford, because your other half has given up their job to write full time, you hope for romance, but the starry look in Blogger’s eyes is due to the brilliant idea they have just had for a totally original blog.

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The only way to survive living with a blogger is to join them. If you only go on line to order your Tesco shop or book concert tickets you need to expand your horizons. Join Facebook and make friends with hundreds of strangers, then regale details of their boring lives to your other half when they are trying to write their next blog. Or you could go on Instagram, that’s very addictive; soon you will be obsessed with taking photographs and getting Likes and followers and you won’t be talking to each other at all except on line.

But maybe such drastic action won’t be necessary. Either the novelty will wear off and Blogger will be feeling bloggered and unblogged, or they will gain thousands of followers from all around the world, including North Korea and will be so busy answering clever comments with intelligent answers, they won’t have time to give you a running commentary.