What do you call a bunch of bloggers?
A Paragraph of Bloggers? A Hard Drive of Bloggers? A Word Cloud of Bloggers?
Or to be more niche specific, A Clatter of Fashion Bloggers?... Or perhaps a Clutch Bag of Bloggers? A Brood of Mummy Bloggers? A Shelf of Book Bloggers? A Chortling of Humorous Bloggers?
I don’t know… but guess whatevereo, fiddle-dee-deedio?
I’m going to be a part of one such group soon…in a rapidly approaching two weeks’ time at the... Problogger Conference on the Gold Coast.
I typically missed the initial ticket sale which was released months ago and by the time I emerged, goomy-eyed, from the primordial swamp I live in (North Queensland) the tickets had all sold out.
In classic Pinkyish, self-pitying pathos, I sent out a grief-ridden Tweet asking if anyone knew of any spare tickets and lo and behold my Perth blogging buddy Rae, from I opened my mouth and it ran away without me!, tweeted me she knew of the existence of a golden ticket to the ‘Mecca of All who Overshare on Wordpress and Blogger’… Problogger. The Conference.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I replied anti-climactically. “I’m broke. Next year maybe. x”
But the small-minded story doesn't end there my friend.
Over the next few weeks I grew more and more restless reading Tweets, Facebook posts and posts from bloggers all over Australia, barely containing their excitement at the prospect of attending a conference at the heartland of the Bloggerati.
Jealousy raised its Pink head and I once more pestered my lovely Perth friend, Rae for any enlightening knowledge of the existence of a black market ticket.
Last night, Scotto and I created a whirlpool of beseeching Tweets, imploring Facebook posts and Potter-esque owls swooping the night skies in search of the Willy Wonka ticket to blogging paradise.
Eventually, we hit pay dirt. And now I have a ticket, God love me.
I booked my flights and rang the oldies on the Gold Coast in order to book my bedroom for three nights. Scotto and I high-fived ecstatically, hugged in elation and did a little dance around Pablo the Chihuahua, much to his delighted surprise.
It's a fate of effrontery!
Now there's only one little thing I have to worry about... asking my Deputy Principal for two days off work for what some may label as frivolous reasons… and one more little thing... why the hell Scotto was so eager to be rid of me for the weekend.
What would you call a group of bloggers?
Linking up with Grace at With Some Grace for FYBF
Chapter 12 of The Man Who Ate Dog
I don’t know… but guess whatevereo, fiddle-dee-deedio?
I’m going to be a part of one such group soon…in a rapidly approaching two weeks’ time at the... Problogger Conference on the Gold Coast.
I typically missed the initial ticket sale which was released months ago and by the time I emerged, goomy-eyed, from the primordial swamp I live in (North Queensland) the tickets had all sold out.
In classic Pinkyish, self-pitying pathos, I sent out a grief-ridden Tweet asking if anyone knew of any spare tickets and lo and behold my Perth blogging buddy Rae, from I opened my mouth and it ran away without me!, tweeted me she knew of the existence of a golden ticket to the ‘Mecca of All who Overshare on Wordpress and Blogger’… Problogger. The Conference.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I replied anti-climactically. “I’m broke. Next year maybe. x”
But the small-minded story doesn't end there my friend.
Over the next few weeks I grew more and more restless reading Tweets, Facebook posts and posts from bloggers all over Australia, barely containing their excitement at the prospect of attending a conference at the heartland of the Bloggerati.
Jealousy raised its Pink head and I once more pestered my lovely Perth friend, Rae for any enlightening knowledge of the existence of a black market ticket.
Last night, Scotto and I created a whirlpool of beseeching Tweets, imploring Facebook posts and Potter-esque owls swooping the night skies in search of the Willy Wonka ticket to blogging paradise.
Eventually, we hit pay dirt. And now I have a ticket, God love me.
I booked my flights and rang the oldies on the Gold Coast in order to book my bedroom for three nights. Scotto and I high-fived ecstatically, hugged in elation and did a little dance around Pablo the Chihuahua, much to his delighted surprise.
It's a fate of effrontery!
Now there's only one little thing I have to worry about... asking my Deputy Principal for two days off work for what some may label as frivolous reasons… and one more little thing... why the hell Scotto was so eager to be rid of me for the weekend.
What would you call a group of bloggers?
Linking up with Grace at With Some Grace for FYBF
Chapter 12 of The Man Who Ate Dog
