I like to believe that I have been missed during the long absence and decline in blog post. I like to think that someone out there misses reading about my ramblings, basking in my literary ambience and is praying faithfully that I will get my long slender fingers back to typing some amusing reading material. I'd imagine that my blog is a genteel affair, like Wimbledon, brought to you by an elitely educated and naturally beautiful girl blessed with a talented flair of entertaining the lonely destituted souls.
But No. 9 out of the 10 avid readers I have, are aged between 11-25. One, an extremely comely young man, featured in my blog post a couple of time wearing a towel over his head, is the only reader who has noticed and contacted me on my lack of posting in the last week. This has prompted me to think that my readers have only chosen to subscribe to my blog because these readers find solace in knowing there is someone out there who has a more lachrymose and abject life in comparison to theirs, rather than for its nobel-prize-worthy entries. I am also sure the ease of my words, my wide sparkling smile and my doe-eyes has done little to attract any sort of desire for any faithful followers.
In the olden days, when most writers were born, there were no photographs in the newspaper or any accompanying studio potraits in the novels, so writers were allowed to be beardy, ugly and fat. William Shakespeare was a great poet because no one knew he looks like a baboon. Jane Austen achieved success because the great english people had no idea she was a plain Jane.
Back then, skill and intelligence were the only talent needed to be famous. And maybe throw in a good agent. But now, with the zoom lens, facebook, picture albums and facebook (or did I mention that already?!), neither skill nor intelligence matters a jot.
We have now entered a world whereby beauty is not just only skin deep but ugly goes bone deep. Would you watch America's next top Model if the Models were fat and hideous? Would you read Dawn Yang's blog if she still look like an Indonesian Maid? Would you bother to know what Kim Ong does daily while her national kerian cyclist husband is away on tournaments if she is just your girl next door with bug tooth and putsal filled face? Nowadays, to get on and be famous, it's not who you know or what you know, or even what you know about who you know. All that matters is what you look like.
David Beckham, I'm told is, far from Britan's best footballer. I think Ronaldinho plays way better than David does but because he is pretty fugly, he cannot be the best. Oh heck, what do I know about football. But as I was saying, David is a popular icon and not only because he lives in Beckhingham Palace, but because he's a handsome chap. Well, not all that chiselled jaw nonsense, but put David and Ronaldinho next together, you get my drift.
I understand all of this. You wouldn't deliberately buy an ugly sofa. Keep an ugly dog or even be caught dead in an ugly car, so why would waste your time stalking an writer who does not look like Sienna Miller? The only requirement today to hollywood superstardom is perfectly square, perfectly white teeth and big arms. Think Denzel Washington.
At the moment, the only two things which are my only hope that my blog readers come back is a.)Humour and b.) my disconsolate life. so my facial handicap is saved mercily by my doughty effort to tickle your humour bone. Good looking bloggers just have to snap pretty pictures of themselves and paste them online whereas I have to resort to comedy. Just how long will the world's ugly people start to wonder why Kate Moss is making millions by being an aneroxic while their own children, who have double firsts in Aeronautical Space Astronmical Science, can't get a decent job?
Now you know why I am saving for a plastic surgery.
