Why The Bum Diaries? What the rubber duck is this all about then? Well, I’ll get to that, but first let me ask you a question. What are yooooouuuuu doing reading this? What made you read the title “The Bum Diaries” and think oh that sounds interesting, I’ll have a little read of that, shall I? Click.
Well, if your googlings are usually preceded by NSFW or pr0n or any of those other internet slang terms I can’t keep up with, and if this blog title led you to think it might be some kind of a Fifty Shades of Uranus to spice up your afternoon, sorry, you’ll be sorely disappointed. No pun intended. Or maybe you thought I was an undercover reporter who had decided to chronicle the emergence of the urban foraging scene and thought the title meant I would be hanging out by the dumpsters at Tesco. Sorry, not me again, but well done for thinking outside the box on that one.
Or perhaps you thought the tag line under the blog heading is my attempt to tell you that I’m one of those shiny happy people who finds the positive light in everything, that I’m a (somewhat vulgar) glass half full type. No, that tagline is just what I call sarcasm, and you shall find it in abundance on this blog.
On that point, I should also, erm, point out that you’ll also find Australianisms, lots of sweary bits, occasional ponderances on the curiosities of living in a new country and a whole slew of nonsense words and phrases (such as the title of this post) and intentional misspellings, like ephelant. (That last bit cleverly excuses me from all typos, so as well as being rather fun, it allows me to be
lazy, drunk sloppy when I proof read. But don’t worry, I shall try to shed some light on the nonsense words with one of those hyperlink thingies, which, if I can figure out how this blog business works, will take you to a dictionary at the top of the page where I will attempt an explanation. Of the nation.
Actually, I named this blog “The Bum Diaries” for two reasons, and that’s me all over. Firstly, I have just resigned from my perfectly stable, perfectly respectable, perfectly wrong for me office job. As of two days ago, I sentenced myself to the vocation of unemployed bum. And secondly, I am 99 percent sure I have IBS, Irritable Bowel Syndrome to those of you who are blessedly uninitiated. If I ever get to a doctor it may turn out not to be IBS but in any case, whatever it is, my bum’s damn well not happy, so the blog title still fits.
I’m pretty sure what I write here will sometimes be irresponsible, irrational, irritating and even iridescent, both in language and (unfortunately for the reader) IBS content, but I hope just sometimes it might also be inspirational. Besides, I’ve just about run out of appropriate words starting with “ir”. I hope that maybe somebody out there might find something here to relate to, whether it be because you too have a dodgy digestive system or just that you think about chucking in the day job, of living your life just the way you always dreamed it would be before reality struck and knocked you clear into the path of discontent.
Soooo… this here is a chronicle of my quest to wake up happy every day, or at least every other day, and to be one of those lucky few people on this planet who make enough money from a job they enjoy so they can live the way they choose. And most importantly, if I can sort out my life, sort out my head and sort out my gut, perhaps my poor bum will find some respite too.