I have been Skyping the good people at Robinson HQ (namely my parents and Grouse the dog) on a twice-weekly basis since going away. This has resulted in more face-to-face contact with my folks in three weeks than I normally have in a year. I cannot complain. They look nice and normal and summery; I look horrible and cold and dustman-like. I am choosing to blame this on the time of day that I am required to Skype them, rather than the fact that I look horrible and cold and dustman-like at the moment.
We have had some lovely chats. “Your room looks a little monastic,” my father commented when I took them on a guided tour of my cell. “Maybe remove your hair band,” said Mother Robinson; “you look weird.”
Best of all they always point the webcam at Grouse who gets really confused by the sound of my voice and goes running off round the room to find me. When he can’t find me, he goes mad and tries to eat the webcam.
Our most recent skype was a little more unusual, however. It is not often that your parents are required to sift through a mountain of newspapers to discover quite how sad and hopeless their daughter’s love life is. Why, you ask? Because the day is finally upon us! That documentary wot Channel 4 made about this blog is going to air this week! Three days to go before the televisual world is exposed to the horror that is my amorous existence! Three days until my psychotic tendencies and pathetic predilections are revealed to the Channel 4-viewing universe!
I saw the doc recently. And I couldn’t help but love it. But that was largely because my existence is exposed as being so pathetic and lamentable that I stopped believing it was me within the first thirty seconds. I laughed kindly at the buffoon on screen and felt secretly glad that I was not she.
(I should add that it’s not really about me, even though it is: it’s about the unsettling affect that the virtual world has had on our behaviour when it comes to matters of the heart/loins. Rather embarrassingly, yours truly was apparently the best example of how the internet can turn you into a complete turnip. And thus yours truly tells the story.)
So I shall sit tight and hope that you enjoy it too. The thought of so many people seeing me in all my crazed stalkerish glory makes me want to do a little bit of sick in my mouth but it’s too late now so I encourage you to pull up a chair, crack open a beer and have a good old laugh at my expense.