The blog paradox

If you do lots of interesting things, you'll have plenty to write about your life.
However.
If you do lots of interesting things, the last thing you'll have time for is writing about it.

This is why most autobiographies are ghost written. And yes, lucky Timberblog readers, it so happens that I live in a 400-year-old building. I was able to get today's blog entry written by a genuine 17th-century poltergeist who lives in the downstairs toilet and goes by the name of Pauline.

"Andrew came over for his yearly visit to Paris last week. For those of you who don't know, Andrew is an old schoolmate, known for playing a lot of Championship Manager, singing like a deflated walrus, and being completely teetotal. We recorded a terrible cover of Maroon 5's already dire song, She Will Be Loved, on Wednesday; strolled round to Faybo's and experienced her unorthodox interpretation of "crepes" on Friday; and then went to the football on Saturday. Perhaps there will be a few photos of the latter up on here soon.

"Timber also bought a shiny new computer last week. On loading it up for the first time, it asked me to give it a name. This disturbs me. There are only a few more steps from here to the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation and Genuine People Personalities. It's bad enough people name their fish, let alone a laptop. On which subject, my boss' 11-year-old daughter, who like 20% of all the girls I know is called Sarah, won two goldfish at the funfair. In true goldfish style, one of them died before it had even been given a name. The other one got lumbered with "Nemo". And they say children are full of imagination. One day I will buy a cat and call it "Thursday" just for the hell of it (and because I secretly think this would be a cool name for a cat). Meanwhile if you have strong feelings as to what my new computer should be called, leave a comment.

"Things are getting busy with shows in the run-up to Christmas. Three gigs this week, one of which is appended to a random person's birthday party, which will almost certainly result in fun debauchery, alcohol-fuelled carnage, and so on. Then there's what would be the office christmas party, except that I don't work in an office, I work with improvising comedy actors. So you can imagine what that's like. And the oh-so-funny gifts you sometimes pull out of the secret santa bag.

"Yip, evenings are basically ending in beer+friends again.

Hi, Timber here briefly. I'll be back to writing my own entries maybe next week. Thanks Pauline, I reckon you imitated my style pretty well. What do you mean you're not dead? You're the cleaning lady?