Blog Sweet Blog Part 2.5 - Shelf Help

Dan Carpenter lifted the mug to his lips and took another sip of tea. He tried to ignore the blog’s branding on the mug. It was on everything he’d found in the kitchen. Blank Page mugs. Blank Page plates. Blank Page cereal. Blank Page teabags. The Blank Page sink un-blocker had been a surprise.

“Yes, thank you,” he told the narration. “You could just say I’m enjoying a cup of tea, but you knock yourself out.”

It had taken Dan most of the day to unpack his few boxes into the room he’d finally selected as his own. He’d decided to keep away from the room with the filing cabinet in it*. Instead, he’d chosen a room not too far from the main bathroom, and slowly set about trying to make the furniture behave itself.

James had taken him through the basic idea. The blog was designed to cater for their every need, within reason. This meant no impossibly large spaces, no infinite floating candelabras, and absolutely no magical servants. Not one teacup or clock was ever going to start singing here, even if it was introduced to the world’s biggest Disney fan for afternoon tea.

On other hand, though, the curtains could be arranged to stop any light from getting in, no matter how bright it was outside. The shelves could take as many books as you owned (whilst still leaving a little breathing space for a few extra volumes), and the radiators didn’t have to practice any sort of basic percussion section warm-up when the heating came on in the morning.

Also, the carpets were one hundred percent stain proof. Mainly because they were clever enough to adapt their pattern to incorporate any new stains added to them.

“Or, you could say, Dan quite liked his room.”

Backseat narrators.

“There’s no need to be like that.”

He put down his branded Blank Page mug onto the Blank Page coaster which discreetly popped into existence directly underneath it.

“You don’t need to do all this twiddly stuff for me,” he told the blog. “I’ve already made it perfectly clear that I am fine with the basics. You know, Dan got up. Dan went to bed. Dan stopped tripping over escaped punctuation running about the place.”

That really isn’t how it works.

“Fine. But don’t go thinking I like it.” He reached for his tea and found a plate of biscuits waiting beside it. “And bribery won’t work, either.”

Although it should be noted that Dan did eat the majority of those biscuits. He left only a few on the plate. They were mainly the plain ones, if you’re wondering. The plain ones and anything which had so much daydreamed about white chocolate in its short lifespan.

Once he was done with them, the branded plate promptly vanished.

Whilst they’d unpacked the last of the van, James had waxed lyrical about living in a place like this. He’d tried to get Dan to understand what fiction could do to a water meter and utility standing charges. He’d talked about the lack of neighbours, the letterbox which could physically filter out all junk mail and hinges that would never start creaking. He’d gone on and on about how easy it was to insulate a blog, as long as it was being read through a firewall.

Dan was convinced that James was still out there now, marching up and down the corridors, grinning like a deranged lottery winner, composing an ode to their saviour – the blog house. Meanwhile, Dan, still couldn’t bring himself to flush the toilet without wincing.

“You tell me where the plumbing goes then,” he said to his room.

He got up and went over to the last box. At the bottom, under the last few CDs with their cracked cases and loose centres, were some framed photos. He’d had them for years, taking them from place to place. One was of his parents on holiday. One was a table of friends at a wedding. The other was of his sister.

They were old photos, their colours faded with aged. He’d had the one of his sister since his second year at uni, when she’d sent it to him for his birthday that year. There was a note she’d scribbled on the back which read, ‘In case you forget what I look like’. Time had nearly washed the words away now. There was little more than shadows of letters left now. Vague impressions pressed in place by her pen.

“We don’t need to go into that, thank you very much,” he said. “You’ve in no way earned any emotional revelations from me.”

For the record, he wasn’t wrong. Sometimes narration can just get a little carried away with itself.

“Yes, well, just watch it.”

He was about to put her photo on the middle shelf, near the Moomin books she’d handed down to him what felt like a lifetime ago, when he found a neatly folded piece of paper tucked between their covers.

“What’s this?”

He opened it and found it was addressed to him. He didn’t recognise the handwriting.

Dear Mr Carpenter,

I’m writing to apologise for this week’s blog. We did have some big things planned for you. Maybe an interview with the kettle, after you’d spent so long hunting for it. Or maybe a history of kitchens through the history of humanity, culminating with you making a cup of tea…

“Sounds riveting,” Dan said, sitting back down on his bed.

…Sadly, this week has sort of got away from us. We can only apologise profusely for this.

Technically, as your landlord, we’re committed to providing you and Mr Myers with engaging and entertaining content at all times. However, life’s rarely so simple. We’re also aware that we’re trying to hook people into the world of Blog Sweet Blog right now, and this isn’t really the best way to do it…

“No kidding. Not one person in my office had even heard of it.”

…Still, we prefer to see every challenge as opportunity. Which is why we thought it was important to let people know you’d unpacked and also to show you were settling in fairly well. James, it has to be said, has been enjoying his time in the blog far more than you. He’s already claimed the recliner in the lounge and re-organised the DVDS and Blu Rays…

“No wonder I couldn’t find my Christopher Nolan boxset.”

…He filed it under C, by the way…

“I knew there was something wrong with him.”

…Anyway, we hope you’ll bear with us whilst we get things in order. We’ve made sure you get about a 1000 or so words in this week, including a mention of your sister, Felicity. We thought it’d be nice to round out your character a little…

“My character? What character? I’m just a tenant here!”

…Also, we did send some biscuits. We’re pretty sure they were your favourite brand, although there are a few plain ones in there as well, just in case. Some people do like a dunk…

“Yes. Sociopaths.”

…See you next week.

Love and hugs,

The Blank Page Team xx

Dan put the letter down and tried to work out how many words he’d used to get this far into the blog. And, in case you’re wondering, it was exactly that sentence (and this one after it) which completely used up his allowance for the week and really put the brakes on finding out any more about his sister or exactly where James would’ve filed A Fistful of Dollars**.

*Constant-ish Reader/True Believer/Keen Amateur Blog Surfer - See part 2 for details on the dangers of that particular filing cabinet, and also some rather nifty riffing on the prose private detective noir novels, if we don’t say so ourselves.

Um…Excelsior!

**It was under A. We really can’t apologise enough for any distress this might cause you.