Blob wants to write a few posts today. His person says that they don't have to be long posts. She's the one who has to type everything and she might have other things to do today than spend lots of hours having a small pink soft toy dictating his thoughts to her.
He wants to write several posts today because he is going on a little holiday tomorrow and knows that it will be impossible for him even to look at his blog when he is away, let alone to write anything. He is doing something that he has never done before in his life, which admittedly isn't a long life yet. He's going to a Christian festival. It's called Greenbelt and he's a little worried because he isn't a Christian. Blob's person is going too for the first time. Because six months after quitting church and dropping the self-description 'Christian' the thing that is normal to do is to suddenly go to a Christian festival. Or not. Blob's person doesn't always do things the completely normal way. She's a little worried by the whole thing too but people have assured her that Greenbelt is the kind of Christian festival where atheists and non-theists feel at home and don't get told they need to repent and turn to Jesus or get punished. Greenbelt is a Christian festival for the nice Christians and for other people. Blob's person confesses that when she was one of those strong evangelical types she was among the people who sometimes protested that Greenbelt wasn't a proper Christian thing at all because it didn't do God right.
Apart from all the worrying aspects, Blob Thing is looking forward to Greenbelt. He wants to have lots of adventures there. He's taking Winefride with him too and they'll be with Blob's creator. It's going to be good. And none of them will be going anywhere near Fleetwood.
Blob visited Fleetwood a while ago with his person and his creator. He's already told you something of his trip to Cleveleys. That had been interesting. Kind of. And eating chips by the sea was pleasurable. The ice cream afterwards had been tasty too. It's a pity it had been such a small portion and had cost too much money. But it was tasty and Blob hadn't been paying for it. The three friends had seen everything they wanted to see in Cleveleys. That hadn't taken long.
Now it was time to go to Fleetwood. Blob's person used to live there. Perhaps the most annoying thing about living in Fleetwood is that if you are in a room containing two or more other people and say you live in Fleetwood at least one of them will say "Ooh, Fleetwood Mac." They will then laugh out loud at their fantastic and original wit as if they've just made a joke that nobody has ever thought of before and which would almost certainly win the best joke award at the Edinburgh Festival. Blob's person always found that annoying. At least that doesn't happen when you live in Newcastle. It's true that some people do suddenly attempt a few words of Geordie dialect and accent when they learn you live in Newcastle. It's true that those people invariably completely fail in their attempt. It's true that their attempts are painful to the ears and mind. But only some people do that. It's not like living in Fleetwood and having people constantly making the same joke that isn't a joke. Blob trusts his person in this but has no personal experience of the Fleetwood failed joke because Blob was created many years after his person lived there.
Blob Thing arrived in Fleetwood with the hope that the entire town wouldn't turn out to be a failed joke. He got off the bus to find that the main shopping street was almost completely deserted on that Saturday afternoon. There were charity shops to visit though and some of them contained cheap clothing. Blob's creator was a little unhappy to find that she had trained his person too well. When they met Blob's person wasn't as good at finding the ultra-cool clothing that Blob's creator wears every day. And she would always check out the books before the clothes. In Fleetwood, for the very first time, Blob's person checked the clothes first and found a dress that Blob's creator would have bought. That's the result of good training.
Blob and the two humans continued walking along Fleetwood's main shopping street, visiting each charity shop in town. As they progressed things got quieter and quieter. By the time they reached the far end of the street, closer to the market - which didn't seem to open on a Saturday - and the library there was almost nobody to be seen. Nobody.
It was as if the town had died and been left to be swallowed by the elements. Every now and again they saw another person, appearing like tumbleweed through a town in an old Western movie. And then the person would be gone again having left no mark upon the streets. It was all very strange indeed. This was a Saturday afternoon. This was the busiest time of the week in most shopping streets. But in Fleetwood there was an atmosphere of death and sorrow. Mostly. The one exception was in the Home Bakery on Lord Street. Blob's person was very glad to see that it was still open. She was even gladder to find that it still had some eccles cakes. Blob is of the opinion that the Home Bakery on Lord Street sells the best sold eccles cakes in the universe. It's a view that hasn't been proved wrong by any other eccles cake she has encountered. She is open to people trying to change her view by feeding her more eccles cakes.
After a while Blob wanted to get off the shopping street. The Western atmosphere felt too much. It was as everyone had cleared out and pretty soon a group of bandits would appear on the street with only a lone sheriff to stand in their way and shoot them all. And was that passing man in black actually the town undertaker? It was time to leave. Quickly.
Blob felt a bit better about things when he reached the sea. He had been hoping to visit Fleetwood Pier because in his research for the day he had found an old leaflet claiming that the pier was "a fun day out for the whole family." That sounded good. But the pier was nowhere to be seen. The fun day had vanished. Blob wondered whether things in the nuclear power station visible across the water had gone very wrong and whether everyone in the town had been forced to move out because of a cloud of radiation. For a moment he was worried whether the radiation levels were safe enough for a day visit. Would he be poisoned by it and turn a different colour? Blob's person told him that there hadn't been any accident involving nuclear power and that it was a fire that had stopped the pier from being a fun day out for the whole family.
Blob has to be honest here. He wasn't particularly enjoying being in Fleetwood. He sat himself down on the sand and looked out to sea. So far that was the best thing about being in the town. But he knew he could do the same thing in many places. Blob didn't have to travel across half a country to sit on the sand. He could just go to Tynemouth. Or Cullercoats. Or Witley Bay. Or he could get the bus and go back to Alnmouth. Alnmouth had been a stunning experience and he wants to go back there soon. He would like to go today but he has blog posts to write before going away tomorrow. [Yes Blob. You do. And they are meant to be short ones. You said so at the beginning and this one is turning out to be quite long. Can the others be short please or you won't get to write them at all.] Blob thinks that his person is a bit mean sometimes! [No Blob. I'm just being practical. If they're long posts there just won't be time to write them.]
Blob turned to his person and asked whether it was time to leave Fleetwood yet. She said it wasn't. But Blob wanted to leave and even the promise of some eccles cake didn't make remaining seem like a good option.
There was just one thing to do.
He would dig his way out. Through the sand until he had dug all the way to the other side of the world. And so he dug with all his might and his skill.
Soon he was in a very deep hole. It was quite tiring doing all the digging. Digging is hard work when you have nothing to dig with. Blob didn't have a spade to dig with. No shovel. No trowel. He didn't even have a spoon. And he had nothing to hold a spade with. In such a situation it's not the easiest of things to dig through an entire planet.
Blob was exhausted. And in a deep hole. He could still see the sky above him. The Fleetwood sky.
"How much further is it until I'm somewhere else?" he called from the bottom of the whole.
"Well, you've dug down over a foot already and you only have another ten thousand miles to go," said his person.
Blob sat and thought. That would be a lot of digging. He had already spent fifteen minutes digging his tunnel. He had progressed over a foot and that seemed like solid progress. Something to be proud of. But there was a very long way to go. Even at his rapid pace it was going to take him several weeks to tunnel through the first mile. And then there would be nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine to go. That would take at least a month!
It was impossible. Blob didn't want to spend a month in a hole. He was sure that he wouldn't be spending a month in Fleetwood. He would have to give up on his enterprise and just cope with whatever the town threw at him. Maybe it would give him a nice surprise if he was patient with it.
At this point Blob Thing realised that he had a slight problem.
He couldn't get out of the hole he had dug. The sides were too steep and even his best bouncing didn't quite get him to the top. He was stuck. Thankfully his person and his creator were still there. They could rescue him. So he called out for help. And after a lot of work Blob thing was freed from his tunnel.
After such a fright, Fleetwood didn't seem as bad.
As the trio left the beach, Blob decided that a view like this was preferable to the view in a dark tunnel to another country. He looked at the building and decided that it was actually quite attractive. Maybe he could visit it later. And with the sun shining down on him, Blob felt happy again. Fleetwood wouldn't be forever. And it did have a beach. And it did have charity shops. And later that day Blob would discover something very exciting indeed.
He'll talk about that another day. This short post is already too long and Blob's person doesn't know how he's going to find time for all the writing he wants to do today if he talks so much about little things. Blob's person is also finding it hard to concentrate. She hasn't had breakfast yet and all this talk of the Home Bakery eccles cakes has made her belly rumble louder than the loudest thunder storm ever to hit the rain forest. [No Blob. It hasn't. You're exaggerating again.]
[1998 words. You call that 'short' Blob? Because I don't.]
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