I am 38 and live in Hammersmith.
This area is central enough to make the sassy parts of London accessible but close enough to the Bush and other Met police favourites to give mumbo a street edge.
I’m aiming to keep it more real than Eminem, who must be finding it hard to rap about the good life, poor love.
There is also a Mr. mumbo, a 5 year old mumbini and a baby mumboo. The only things I know about this blog is that I don’t want them to appear in it much but they will keep their real names when they do.
This is mainly because I am trying to escape from them but also because their funny sayings go into another diary only our families pretend to be interested in.
And bloggy names bring me out in a rash.
This is a picture of me as a young blogger:
I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right, I don’t wear glasses for the computer screen anymore. Just for driving and watching television.
It’s pre-op too, when I was a young boy called Florian.
mumbojumbo was going to be abstract. Nothing to do with my daily routine- incredible though an alien would find it.
But sharing unedited rubbish without being a wind-bag is nothing but a flawed plan.
So unpalatable bigotry and mind-numbing narrative are now absolutely on the menu.
J-Lo seems to find it unfulfilling taking a dump unless a television camera records it.
I suspect I need to validate my existence in words.
One day I hope they may help pay for it too.