On an average day, my blog pulls in about five times fewer readers than Esther's. Last night we were talking a bit about blogs and she suggested that one of the reasons for this is my habit of simply linking to things. It's not very interesting is it? No one's going to add me to their blog roll at that rate -- at least, not until I become one of those people that everyone links to not because I am good but because everyone else links to me.
Esther suggested that I tell more stories. So, here's one about a girl named Asha. Like most of my stories, this one starts with the phrase: "When I was living in Portsmouth..."
When I was living in Portsmouth I had the biggest crush on a girl named Asha. I followed her around like a puppy dog. I would have thrown myself in front of a train to win her affection. If I were to characterize her in a film, I would show her walking confidently and stylishly down the street whilst every man spun on their heels upon seeing her, clutched their chest and fell to the ground in the crushing heartache of unrequited fancy. She was beautiful, intelligent, funny, worldly and cool in all situations.
She was also blissfully kind to me in rejecting my overt advances. Seriously, I was pathetic in how obviously and aggressively I pursued this woman. A woman likes a bit of mystery and challenge, not: "DEAR GOD! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL; I WILL CUT OFF MY ARM IF YOU WILL GIVE ME A KISS."
Eventually I moved back to the God-Blessed United States of America and contact with Asha ebbed away (much to her relief, I'm sure). Last I had heard from her, she was in Leeds.
Then, Friday, as I am wont to do, I Google-searched her name and found that she is now a reporter for BBC London. How cool is that? I know a BBC reporter! Here's a story she did in March 2004. Click on the video in the upper right corner; she's on camera for just a moment about 36 seconds into the piece.
OK. That wasn't really much of a story. Perhaps there's good reason in my book being rejected.