So, I told my mother about the blog. I told her not because I really wanted to, but because it kind of just slipped out at a moment of weakness.
See, I wanted to tell her that I got invited to be a panelist at the Galle Literary Festival because I thought she would be happy about that, but obviously being a mum she was bound to ask why, and who, and when, and how, and what the hell were you thinking writing a post about orgies. So, I thought I wouldn’t.
But there I was, at my parents’ home for lunch on Sunday, watching a DVD as usual (this time it was 3:10 to Yuma) and my mum was as usual seated near me with the usual Sunday papers doing what she does usually when I am engrossed in a movie, which is talk at me. When I say my mum talks ‘at’ me, I really mean she talks ‘AT’ me. She talks at me no matter what I’m doing, about every single subject under the sun, whether I’m late for work and rushing to the car, or whether I’m reading a book, or whether Jack Bauer is just about to learn the key to everything, it doesn’t matter. This is fair enough nowadays, I guess, because I see her only on Sundays, and to be frank, watching a DVD during the few hours I spend at home is probably a bit cheeky on my part, as well.
So, she was talking at me and I glanced over at her to offer my half-hourly murmur to signify that I really did appreciate the nuances of the internal politics of her women’s charity club or some such thing, and I happened to notice an ad for the Galle Literary Festival and she asked about how she could buy tickets, so I then just blurted out without thinking that I was going to be a panelist at a discussion about blogging.
She was a little surprised at that. And she could see I was being hesitant about it, and perhaps she knew I was regretting telling her. So she didn’t ask too many questions. But then while I was finishing off the film, she had got online, found a program, checked on the panel discussion, and informed me that I was not on it. I checked it on her computer – I actually didn’t know what the topic was going to be until then (“Bloggers: Can they be taken seriously?”), and I said, that’s me, “Ravana”, I’m using a pseudonym. She didn’t seem surprised. So, now she’s going to come for the Galle Literary Festival and she’s probably going to be there at the discussion I’m at, and I won’t be able to talk that much about orgies anymore, without feeling like my mum is watching.