Do Call It A Comeback

Following my last, high-quality and highly controversial blog, which caused an uber-furore on the highway and byways of Brighthelm’s cyber network, I decided to opt out of the system, like a gap-year student putting off that nepotised job at Goldman Sachs for another 12 months. (in my real gap year, I went to Honduras to spend some time with the local Tawanka Indian tribe, to whom I taught the dance to the theme from Blockbusters. A truly humbling experience).

This decision to tune out, turn off and switch off was strongly influenced by my support for the right-on strike action of my Argus brothers, sisters and non-gender specific siblings. However, as well as (virtually) standing shoulder to shoulder with these wonderful folk on the picket line, I also saw this as an opportunity to get back to life and indeed, back to reality.

This digital-free vanilla lifestyle allowed me to spend some old skool time with ma belle famille, “wife” (what a vile corporate term) Jocasta and twins Lex and Nimsie in our Hanover idyll. Instead of iPads and Wii’s clogging up our quality freetime, we played Ludo, Snakes and Ladders and (in an ironic jibe at corporate imperialism) Risk. Instead of browsing flickr for photos of flora and fauna, we damn well went outside our door and touched it, stepped in it, and smelt it.

I was also able to work with more focus on a trio of new TV projects – “Bear About Toon”, where Bear Grylls has to spend a night on a Newcastle housing estate without getting his head kicked in, “The Secret Dole Scrounger”, where undercover poor people go into exceedingly wealthy communities and live like kings and queens before revealing, at the end, that they have feck all money and can’t pay for anything and finally, “Fred and Rose Have Just Got In”, a gentle comedy starring Dawn French and the bloke from Spiderman 2, which focuses on the more humdrum side of the Wests’ marriage. I’m still awaiting feedback from the plethora of TV co’s I pitched them all too. I remain uber-confident, by the way.

Anyway, despite my computer-free existence, being at the forefront of le digital revolution (I was blogging before most of you knew what a blog was), meant that I was still bombarded with new apps and technology to test out from hi-tech companies all looking for that all-important Quenners seal of approval. Best of a bad bunch is a Vietnamese social networking tool – TigerJing 2.0 - kind of a 4D Twitter meets a 5th gen Second Life meets Jet Set Willy. However, you mere mortals won’t see it or get to use it for any 12 months (soz!), so watch this space, as it’s a comparatively good space to watch.

However, despite these occasional cyber-intrusions, I was, pour la most part, able to shun the virtual world. Indeed, I was able to get some 100% genuine facetime with simple folk - from the honest, urban grit of the homeless urchin to the incoherent, racist ramblings of the OAP. The pavements and twittens of this magnificent city were my chatrooms, the good old general public my fellow chatters. And only once was I asked if I wanted to see a photo of someone’s penis.

In the midst of this cyber cold-turkey, I was badgered by my peers to make an appearance at a Brighton blogger meet-up. And boy what a wake up call it was. Most of the city’s bloggerati, eloquent, arrogant and oft vitriolic online turned out to be pale imitations of their cyber-selves in real-life. Socially inept and painfully insecure, many of the main suspects hid behind a “crazy” hat (out-of-date pork-pie) upon their bonce or a “wacky” dress (usually some passé sub-Dita Von Teese get-up). Yet even with a few tongue-in-cheek retro cocktails in them, they still failed to live up to their online selves. Twitter regulars who spew forth right-wing uber-Tory tweets on a daily basis metamorphosed into geeky, silent, awkward buffoons, smart-arsed cyber-irony-jockeys could no longer hide the fact that they were self-haters who worked in accounts at American Express.

Returning to the hoo and indeed haa which surrounded my last blog, one assumes that many of the angry commentors on Argus blogs are similarly frustrated and embittered folk, with the laptop keyboard the only outlet for their pent up anger at the world.

However, I must check myself here, before I wreck myself – not all of Brighton’s bloggers are such non-people in the flesh. Our magical seaside mega-hamlet is home to some of the nation’s bonda fide Twitterati, folk who their fingers on the pulses of many pop-cultural pies. Indeed, uber-scribbler and pop pipistrelle Alex Petridis (@alexispetridis) carries the zeitgeist around in the back pocket of his skinny indie (skindie?) cords, high-class fashion/beauty/everything journo Sali Hughes (@salihughes) keeps hers, tastefully, in a vintage ‘80’s Versace handbag, while Welsh wordsmith and pop–junkie Simon Price (@simon_price01) carries his in a little box upon his bonce, betwixt his two tufts of funky-punky hair. We are indeed lucky to have such gifted luminaries walking our famous cobbled streets, both real and virtual. In a non-prostitute way, of course.

So where does that leave moi, arguably the most luminous of all Brighthelm’s luminaries? Well, after cyber sackfuls of mail pleading with me to return to the blogging fold (and clogging up the halls and orifices of the Argus), I have decided to come back, a digi-prodigal son, if you like.

So expect a friggin’ load of wit, a frickin’ mountain of social comment and a lot of other f-wordy things.

Brighton needs me like a hole in the head, a good hole, mind. One that opens the whole place up to a higher state of consciousness. I am the leader of Brighton’s virtual-trepanation-nation, and I’m back.

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