Emily needs to get wise. She has missed one of the points on the list. That point is, Emily, pick your blogger. You can only make money out of a blogger that fits your market. Disappointing, Emily, given how much you enjoy! reading! grit's day!
Emily, with her suggestion that I tell you all about buying school uniforms, is of course entirely correct in other matters. She has seen how the future rolls on. Emily, it's rolling on without me.
Let's just call it another future I'm not joining. If you haven't checked that list yet, it provides a neat ticky list for commercial blogology. It gleefully heralds the mummy blog as promotional business product advertorial brand ambassador space with free gift, exclusive to you.
You can probably take it as a given that I won't be doing all that comes with it. Posting pictures of myself smiling with more teeth than I own. Offering the latest tidbit about Whatsherface Hilton. Reassuring my readers that breast pumps are so in they're like, hot and you all should own one right now! Say, make that three and tell everyone that grit sent you!
I won't be doing any of that stuff. No product reviews, no ads, no placement for your video, no link up with your blog brand account manager, no taking up your kind offer to provide me with copy from a professional writer, no, no, no, none of that.
Here, at grit's day, there is what there always is, at heart. A story about surviving home education. Told day by day, month by month, year by year. In all its misery, joy, broken hearts, elevation to heaven, pointless craft projects and wet fields.
So that's me sorted. In the brave new commercial blog world, I'll be sitting here, all alone. Stig of the dump. Billy no mates. Stuck in the past. One foot in the grave. My own little stewpit of blogland. Blog dinosaur. Hear me die. Fppppft.
Now, you readers of grit's day, you kind amiable people who stroll along here - I would gladly sit down for a coffee with any of you, so long as you're paying - you probably already realised that you can come and go, in and out of grit's blog, and I will still be here. Call that OCD. Call that psychosis. Call that grit. My face is set to the long term. I have kids to get through these years of home ed, and I need a space for quiet reflection, mental exercise, organised screaming. You are welcome to join me, for one day, for many days, for all days.
But Emily, if you've read this far, now's the time to give up. School uniforms are crap. They are social control dressed up in grey nylon. Burn the school uniforms, Emily, burn them. That's my advice. Burn them all.
Terms and conditions. Should grit's day suddenly and inexplicably attract audiences of thousands, Grit reserves the right to renounce all her principles and make as much money as she can from advertising to pay for Tiger's therapy bills. Grit also reserves the right to endorse any field, product, museum, exhibition, she wants, solely on the basis of the fact that she wants to. She also reserves the right to respond to any PR offering educational opportunities for the Shark, Squirrel and Tiger daughters, on the understanding that they agree to allow their client to be mocked in any way of Grit's choosing. Grit also reserves full control of her blog, having peed in all the corners.