The one thing old school bloggers like to do more than navel-gazing and writing in-depth music reviews, is to nostalge. That’s a verb, right? Or if not, I’m allowed to verb it, right?
This afternoon’s cocktail hour is, of course, a London blogmeet. If you’re unfamiliar with this concept, then a) you don’t belong here, and b) you can read a very typical report of one here. To that end, it’s February 2003, and we are in a bar somewhere near Euston. The room is full of people claiming to read each other’s blogs, and in some instances, this is true, in which case we tell each other that we feel like celebrities, familiar with some pretty intimate details of each others’ lives, but never having met before.
Taking the weight off her feet, Pigwotflies claims not to have changed one bit. Despite this, she is sipping ice shavings and having a hot flush. Wethinks something might have changed.
At one of the tables, Pixeldiva is still Queen of Blogland, and has proved it so by hitting so many nails on so many heads in her comment below, featuring her lunch, the London Underground, and metablogging. This whisky old fashioned is much deserved. We’re glad you like Uborka, we like it too, and we like that it’s not about anything. It really isn’t. Should she run out, Gert is always on the verge of going to the bar, and knows exactly what everyone drinks. This is a useful, if creepy skill.
Another one who can be counted on to ply you with wine is Our Lad Pete, who has aged but handsomely so. Just beware if he fixes you with those pool-blue eyes and says “Hi, I’m Pete… Petedotnu.” This is an irresistible formula.
None of us can remember when Clair first appeared on the scene, least of all herself, but it’s as if she’s always been there, with her knitting and a glass of champagne. Meanwhile we’ve allowed Asta to join us because despite never having actually had a blog, she is almost literally part of the furniture. Just don’t sit on her, as she has a sore back.
Graybo, of course, doesn’t need to come to blogmeets because he has all those imaginary friends to blog about. And they’re great because they go for drinks with him all the time. He doesn’t need us.
Cosmopolitan as ever, Mike was one of the first bloggers I slept with, in the sense that we both stayed at Mr Hydragenic’s house that weekend, not in the Belle de Jour sense, obvs. I would argue that there aren’t enough words in that comment for it truly to be a reflection of his early years. I think we should raise a glass to absent friends.
Back in ’03 we still thought digital cameras were a pretty neat idea; now our phones are cameras and selfies are the thing, so everyone stand in this corner and we’ll find the person with the longest arms to try and get the whole crowd in. Yay! Me too!
