Way back then...

Scrobs has recently mentioned a time - the middle noughties - when 'blogging' was still in its infancy, and there were lots of corners which needed rubbing off;  Blogger was a bit of a minefield to negotiate as well.

Protocols of posting comments were also varied, such that there were odd and sometimes silly words to describe unconventional behaviour, un-generous innuendo, and even insults, and it wasn't for a few years later, that most people who indulge in a little light banter got to understand the ropes and contribute properly.

Of course, there is still an undercurrent of illiterate rubbish posted, especially on mentally-lightweight sites which concentrate on weak, macho messages, or just nasty subjects, and like anywhere else, these are generally ignored by most decent people.

Scrobs can remember very clearly, that a great blog concerning a small village was just starting up, and it was there that his first tentative comments appeared in shaky typing. As nonentity reigned, Scrobs made up a pseudonym in the form of Mannerings Webley-Bullock, who was a retired grumpy old gentleman living somewhere or other, and posted lengthy tirades on the website, often late in the evening with a tincture at hand.

Back then, the Labour government were doing their level best to ruin the country, and had already done all it could to scupper our young company, such that we were starved of the investment funding which is usually available when the economy is going well, but not when socialist fanatics go out of their way to stifle private enterprise at the roots.

Frustration took many forms, and on one occasion, I wrote a long and weary post which took long into the night. The next morning, I checked to see what had been the result, and was utterly mortified to read again what I had written, and also saddened to read the responses.

In short, Scrobs had been an utter arse, and received, and deserved the indignant denigration and opprobrium. Scrobs thought very deeply about all this, and decided he had to make amends in some way, so this is what happened.

Scrobs changed his name, Mannerings, to that of his sister, Miranda. It seemed a bit odd at the time, as everyone knows that Scrobs is a red-blooded male, with a heightened liking of any female who wants to avail herself of purely affectionate appreciation, and good humour, especially if she has good legs!

So Miranda Webley-Bullock was born, and began to make amends for the atrocities of her brother's rantings and bad manners. Some sort of past reference is  here: -

http://scroblene-webley-bullock.blogspot.com/2011/03/hoe-down_21.html

...and I'm pleased to note that there are still a few names in the comments, who are still with us!

But, (there always is a but, Scrobs, just get on with it - Ed), just the other day, while delving into a bulging folder of old stuff on the PC, I discovered this little 'gem', which has survived twelve years in the background, and I'd totally forgotten all about it! The blog in question was by a gentleman named Oliver Gosling, and seemed to echo a lot of the charming fantasy stories we all loved and cherished, as well as supported with inanities, or comments such as this one below, where Miranda, in her new role, was in full flow...

"Dear Oliver,

When Mannerings’ Great Great Grandfather Aloysius was stationed in Liverpool in 1810, (this was after the unpleasantness with the aunt of a servant who eventually became Mayor of Rotherham), he was ringing a peal of Superlative Surprise Major, and during the third bob, the tower began to disintegrate, and the whole steeple came roaring down in a mass of bells and rubble.

Grandfather escaped with a small bruise to the forearm, a black eye, two broken legs and a fractured pelvis, further exacerbated by internal contusions not unconnected with his love of two bottles of fine Claret before any peal lasting more than three hours.

He was also rumoured to have sired his future heir about three-quarters of an hour earlier, while choosing his looser ringing trousers in front of his then lady wife, Cymbeline.

These bells are small compared with those hung in his chosen church, St Barnabas the Arrogant, and he was renowned for taking two ropes at the same time, thereby allowing the assembled ringers plenty of time to see the not inconsiderable acreage of stomach between said trousers and his shirt.

He died in ‘The Peasant’s Crow’ PH after indulging in a marathon game of cribbage lasting one and a half days, (with three relapses for bodily functions, and also the unique opportunity to sire the additional generation of Webley-Bullocks with the Landlord’s wife, Melissa the ‘Open’.) He is buried somewhere close to the road but nobody is exactly sure where!

I thought you might like to know this!

Miranda x"

I have to admit, that I was rather happy with these communications; they took away a lot of the anguish of awful business conditions, little money and an uncertain future. The blog has sadly long gone, (Corin may know something about this), but there again, all things must pass, and that it was from these tentative comments as Miranda who was a great old dame, 'Scroblene ' was formed, and, for better or worse, has squeaked and banged its way onwards from those early heady days on the ether!

(Footnote - Miranda used to live in 'The Grannex', a sort of apartment built out of the redundant artificial insemination unit on Mannerings's farm. It was there that she could indulge in the usual antics normally associated with tinctures, shenanigans, and several clandestine meetings with several suitors, all of Scrobs' making, usually with wistful glances into a hitherto unsullied past. She was a good sport, and it was always a pleasure to let her loose on various comments)!