google sp*d*r

I'm so frightened of them I can't even put the word in properly. We have been found by the google arachnid, and namechecked on a couple of blogs. This is very small beer to a lot of committed bloggers, but I have to confess it made me feel a little strange.

It does make me reconsider why we do this. I think we both got a little carried away with the idea that we could. Then, in the original version (now gone forever) it all felt a bit too personal and as if we had exposed too much of ourselves. We did decide to anonymise it further, and that we could look on this a bit like a diary, which neither of us have ever kept. The weirdness is people we don't know seeing this. Not that I think that they are any different to us, I like to check out other blogs, but that's me reading them! I'm in control! Not sure how to feel about this. I know blogging is public, but it felt private! I shall have to think a little bit more about this, obviously.

On a different subject, I am reading "All quiet on the western front" for the first time. I was convinced that I had read this before, even knew it was all about war being hell and changing the young forever, having an experience which those not sharing it never able to understand etc etc. But I had NEVER read it. I'm beginning to worry now about what I actually have read. I read so much I always thought it was more likely that I would forget I had read a book, not remember a book I hadn't read. Anyway, It's good and very short. Not really value for money. Give me Peter F Hamilton's space operas (and I mean that in a good way) and I'll show you value.

I have noticed this disturbing tendency quite a lot as I get older. Theoretically, I understand a little about how memory operates, but it's not nice being your own subject. My Hampshire Hog sister (Treacle Tart as she prefers to be known) and I have both experienced stealing each other's best anecdotes and really thinking that they are our experiences. With such a small age gap between us, we often think we had a twinnish time, but this stuff does give us the creeps.

If I start relaying a fascinating account of my night on the tiles in Kirkwall at some later date, you'll know I've begun stealing from Mr McMuffin and to disbeleive everything I say. (That doesn't look right, please make allowances for my poor spelling, but I really am too lazy to spell check.)

Goodnight everyone, friends and friends I haven't met yet alike.

Mrs McMuffin

PS What's even more strange is that I never call myself Mrs, always Ms, since I was 15. What's more is I really don't mind on this blog.