Apparently I’m Neither G Rated or Comprehensible

For a while now I’ve had good intentions to start a blog for the Fix Online. Initially, at Krista’s mention of the idea, I was overly excited Abi at the thought of reviewing, reminiscing or ranting about varying pressing topics, or in fact whatever just fell out of my mouth onto the page, so agreed wholeheartedly. For someone who updates her facebook status more regularly than taking a breath when she’s really onto something, I appear, on the outside, to have a lot to say.

Or not.

My first effort, which I’ll subtly slip into the blogs down the road, once I’ve shown my ability to be normal, was the most inappropriate opening ever. The topic was a bad start, but on top of that, I seemed incapable of producing age appropriate content in a language you Canadians can all understand. Yes, I have a slight potty mouth at times, but I speak the same language. Or the Queen’s English as I prefer to call it. Although you’d think I didn’t. Say for example, in my busy day at my desk of doom, I perhaps take but a brief moment to email a friend. When over 50% of the words are highlighted by spellchecker before my computer will let me send my mail, I am a little concerned. It’s not incorrect spelling as such, but entirely unrecognizable words – am I really blasphemous, illiterate and improper? I can’t be, I’m British.

Perhaps it’s just a fad and I was just finding my feet in this Country I thought? Or a sign I’m reaching the bitter and dirty 30’s? Who knows, but upon starting again, I became aware even an unrated topic soon needs to be verified by the Canadian Film Rating Board as soon as I try and put my thoughts on paper. I too realized I had developed the desire to use words that I can’t even spell. On occasion have to look up. To start thinking and writing things like my mother – when did this happen? I always thought her to be ridiculous. And I’ve always thought I was my own person, not in the least bit influenced by surrounding forces. This was getting worse.

Despite thinking myself multi-national and an avid globetrotter, (despite trotting myself to this little town and coming to an abrupt halt), a lot of what I say (and write apparently) leaves people, (let alone poor spellchecker), confused and thinking I’m weird. I’m not, I repeat, I’m British. I can’t be.

But if it is the nationality, not the temperament, I’m shocked, as there are enough nationalities in this town who stick out like sore thumbs, not to make it a multi-cultural and highly understanding community. Perhaps it has good intentions to be understanding yes, but a few people need to fine tune their lugs, (that means ears by the way). I am NOT Australian. And any Brits who’ve thought I’m Australian should be ashamed of themselves and the Queen. Haven’t you heard me say, “Bugger awf, parti-cardi, bloody ‘ell, pardon, sorry, ooh I could murder a cup of tea, sod off, pardon, damn it, oh so terribly sorry” on a regular basis?

So there we have it. An ongoing dilemma and one which I hope will unravel itself as I continue my blogging journey. Perhaps it’s my personality and unbeknown illiteracy, perhaps my nationality and some bizarre cross-cultural differences (don’t even get me started on this list, you and your bloody aluminum - you’re missing a whole syllable), but either way, I shall make it my aim to make at least 50% of my blogs both understandable and suitable. That’s a pass no?

Just stick with me, I’ll get better…