New Horizons.

I've been gratified to have a fair few people start talking to me about my blog. This is nice in theory and it certainly pleases me to know that people are actually looking (although not bothering to get themselves google accounts and actually follow me. Making me look bad), but it can be genuinely a very discomforting experience to have someone who you would never have imagined popping up in this entirely separate world, coming and reading your inner musings. It would be like bumping into your second cousin at school, or having the head prefect sitting in your house and opening presents with everyone at Christmas. The two worlds collide and somehow mutate and fuse in a soggy mush of all things weird and awkward. "Oh yeah Jacob you're the guy who wrote about how adults think kids are twats" says Shaniqua Pogostick, year 11, resident of Framwellgate sewer and winner of the village slime specimen of the year award three years running when she has, each time, simply placed her personality on the judging panel's desk*, who at every turn since then has continually demonstrated that she is the exact reason that I often agree with adults. Anyhow, despite my slightly mixed feelings as to people actually going and reading what I wrote in the hope that they would indeed read (sounds ridiculous, but I'm pessimistic like that), one thing has come up, and it is that I should stop dilly dallying and start facing up to the real big issues out there. The proper meaty controversial problems in todays society. Well guys, that seems like an intent worthy of my pursuit, maybe I will.

Which is funny, because I thought facing up to the big issues was the Big Issue's job. Heaven knows whatever happened to that policy, although this new direction of writing does bring to mind the excellent scenario in which people in red life jackets (I can never fathom why they wear them. To protect them from what, drowning in the delusion that they're holding good journalism?) stood on street corners, handing out snippets and quotes from my life and prose. Wouldn't that make life so much more worth living? Newcastle high street would be transformed, the noises of smells so weird that yes they do indeed make noise, and of promising business magnates showing true skills of market analysis by supplying gargantuan supplies of strawberries to a general public who has never and never will buy that many strawberries, all these would be replaced by a constant background hum of Jacob Bradley witticisms and epithets- "Read all about it, Ed Miliband reveals his permanent facial expression of mild discomfort and slight surprise is in fact due to a fart that has been building up for twenty nine years now", "Imagine a T-Rex conga", "Strawberry man, when will you understand that they're nice, but not that nice". You guys and gals would love that. I know I would.

So, I haven't actually discussed anything today, I'm aware, but this post is a headsup that the large topics, ultimate questions and deep mysteries will be coming. They're on their way. Do breathing exercises or some shit.

*I should point out that no one has actually said this to me, everyone I've talked to has been lovely and not one of them would I call a slime. Yet. You see it's just a situation I'm beginning to fear. Oh, apart from you Charlotte, you're a right slime.