The Daily David - Limited Offer Only

So, for one month only davidmarstonwrites is going daily.

I’m not exactly sure why I’m giving myself a load of extra work, but I’ve been reading quite a few other blogs recently. I quite like the idea of popping up and briefly saying something irreverent without my usual (hah!) more structured work.

Like the guy I saw just before Christmas. It was nearly midnight, absolutely freezing cold and he’s walking along holding a piece of broccoli out before him like a religious icon. I had something funny to say about that, but managed to forget it over the next couple of days.

I’m mean, it’s not as though I’ve much else to do. I spend most of my time sitting at the computer writing.

God, I spend most of my time sitting at the computer writing? How the hell am I going to find enough copy to write something every day???

Prepare to have a conversation near you pilfered very soon.

Right. You know that thing we all do when something’s finally gone right? When you want to pump your fist in the air or, if it weren’t for carpet burns, slid across the floor on your knees, the soundtrack in your head a big triumphant rock band. With strings.

“Yeeeessssss!!!!”

When I was a salesman and I got a particularly large order confirmed I wanted to run laps of the building waving the contract in the air. Instead, because I’m terribly English at times, I’d just smile and get on with processing the order through the computer system.

I’m a lot less reserved at home (not least because there’s no-one around to tut disapprovingly) and this morning I finally figured out why a story wasn’t working. It all suddenly clicked into place perfectly - not a moment too soon, either, the deadline’s tomorrow. There was something suitably raucous on the stereo and before I knew it I’d finished the problem-scene and was standing in the middle of the lounge playing air guitar.

Now, the front gardens (front concrete, rather) on our road are about two foot long. We’re the only house to not have one of the following: blinds, net curtains, handy bushes. Which is my fault (obviously) because I enjoy the light coming through the big windows. The drawback is we get gawpers; people who unashamedly walk past with their heads turned, mouths open, dribble running down their chins.

When I opened my eyes, mid-riff, I saw a what appeared to be a dozen Japanese tourists, over-night bags and all, staring in.

Quite what they were doing in Brockley I never found out. I was too busy mentally shrivelling into a ball of goo.

At midday I, sheepishly, went out to vote. Elections, love them. Admittedly the locals aren’t as much fun as a general election, but I’ll still be there tonight, glass of whisky in hand, watching the BBC’s coverage of pensioners counting pink forms as fast as their fading eyesight allows.

I think I might be the only person not directly involved in politics to watching, though.

As I made my mark today, I wondered why I get quite so obsessed with politics. Then I realised: It’s pure vanity. It’s a little bonus point for my ego that gets all romantic about changing the world, about fighting the good fight. I’m doing something worthwhile.

Whilst, of course, the rest of my time I spend sitting at the computer in the spare room.

I might need to get out more.