Keeping Your Identity Secret

Not, you muppet, like superheroes.

I mean, when I started doing this blog thing, I thought about keeping it a secret. Just posting it and leaving it out there, for someone to come across if they happened to Google the exact right combination of words whilst at the bottom of an internet-spiral. (You know the one, where it’s 3am, and you’ve watched all of Youtube’s cat videos, and you’re now just plugging random words into the search bar to see what comes up, and you happen to type “blogs by neurotic disasters who can’t adult and might occasionally have an apparent anger problem” – then this blog would pop up and you’d be like, “Oh, cool! That’s a thing!”)

The trouble is, I like people to read my words. Always have done.

My poor mother and my poor nanny spent the first eight to ten years of my life being forced to read every bit of paper I saw fit to scribble on and then shove under their noses. My mother kept some of them (sentiment is a funny thing) and they are ridiculous. I wrote on an A3 piece of paper that the world was blue and green. I mean, seriously. The world won’t be blue and green for much longer if we have to cut down any more trees to make paper for me to deface!

And I knew, that if I did this blog thing, I’d have to use “codenames” for people. It’s not that hard, I did it before when I was at university, blogging and using codenames for the people I was writing about. The trick there is to use a combination of words that describes that person, hence brothers 1 & 2 become YoungerBro and BabyBro, and then one won’t a) forget who they are or b) tell a super complicated story that gets well confusing for your readers. I mean, you might still tell the super complicated story, but by using easily identifiable nicknames, you’ll be able to maintain an illusion of control over your meandering narrative.

SO ANYWAY. I decided in the end to post it through my Facebook, and my Twitter, and let my lovely, real-life friends read my brainfarts. I mean, posts.

BUT THEN, new dilemma! Do I use real people’s names? Or do I make up a comedy nickname for people? Turns out, comedy nicknames are good. They make people giggle, and people come to own them as a secret, in-joke identity between them and me. (You know who you are, Jilton.)

Hence why, in the cast of my never-boring life, I have a number of amusingly nicknamed starring roles. From Daddy Dearest (incredibly dear, my dad) and AwesomeMa (a.k.a. AwesomeMother, and – as in real life – HBIC), through Little Octopus and Steeb, all the way up to Chohn and Hen, no-one gets on this blog with a real name. Apart from my cousin Calum, who somehow didn’t end up with an appropriate nickname like Lawyer McSmartyPants, or Wedding Speech Genius, probably cos I was too busy being impressed by his Lawyer-McSmartyPants-ness when we went for the wedding.

Even you, Gentle Readers, are known by a nickname. Which is better than having to list all six of you by your individual names. Saves me time, you know. Time and carpal tunnel.

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