Things I need to stop doing (part 1)

I've optimistically put "part 1" in the title in the hope that this will inspire/encourage/tap into my pride and force me to write another post sooner rather than later. We shall see.

Anyway, this is an easy one as it really is ridonkulous. (NB - a later post will no doubt feature, "stop making up and using stupid words. Like ridonkulous).

But really, small talk. Particularly, determined small talk. I used to think I was ok with silences, but really, I'm not. Ask any of my long suffering friends and they will no doubt be able to think of a number of occasions when I've broken a slightly awkward silence by saying "awkward". Or, even worse, "AWKS". Jesus I need help.

But I really go into determination overdrive with regards to poor, innocent, unsuspecting strangers who I will never see again, but with whom I usually manage to leave a lasting impression.

Some of my terrible choices of topic have included:

1) Crack
2) Reading "The story of O" on the tube
3) Telling a stranger sitting next to me on the tube about how I had overheard two, other strangers, talking energetically and enthusiastically about someone called "Bang Tidy". Included the quote "he's no Bang Tidy".

A particularly bad one was when I was having my blood taken by a very friendly nurse. I'm totally fine with blood being taken, I don't have a thing about needles, I wasn't trying to distract myself from someone shoving something into my vein, sadly, not. No, I just am unable to have a silence.

So the nurse is searching for my vein, hurrah! she's found it and just as she's about to impale me, I ruin the moment with the classic opener of:

"So... syphilis eh?"

There was no real precedent to this, I'd seen something on the news about how it's on the rise (joy) but omitted to preface my opener with this as would have been the sensible thing to do. Full credit to her, she took it in her stride. We had quite a pleasant chat about it and I learnt a few things such as that it's easily beatable with penicillin, but it's becoming immune to that (fear).

I think things would have finished normally and I could have left and probably would never have written this blog. Alas, it was not to be. No, I had to go on to tell her that I'd feel a bit like Lord Byron if I was to get syphillis. Chortle chortle. She gave me a wry look and just muttered "fingers crossed" to herself. I left without a plaster for my arm, a small sacrifice.