I have researched hashtags that might get my tweets more views, created one for the project: #SSP which will help people find related posts. I appear to be sharing this with a woman in a nice t-shirt and some people tweeting about politics in a language I can't read. I loaded twitter. Socialoomph tells me that so far I've had 1,294 click throughs from my tweets to the Kickstarter page. I know it is important to be an online presence at the weekend, when most people read their tweets. I read somewhere that most people post during the week but read at the weekends. However I decided to sacrifice my live presence in order to take a break.
I am not very good at taking breaks. I started by reading three chapters of a book of research into sensory learning, and then going back to twitter to create a string of academic tweets. Once I'm finally off the computer all I want to do is sleep. James' first week at work has gone really well and he wants to go off adventuring. Sadly we compromise on arguing: no rest for me, no adventures for him. It is very sad, not what either of us want.
Two former colleagues and a
few people I don’t know backed the project whilst James and I hopelessly trudged around a huge supermarket trying to find food we recognised.
In the evening we walked around a lake (a small adventure) discussing what other avenues I could explore for the project. We come up with lots of
ideas. James is convinced that all of his will work. It is very easy to come up with ideas when you're not the one who will ultimately have to do them: phrases like "the police would move you on eventually but that wouldn't be a problem" and "just go up to people at Liverpool station and tell them about it" have me worried. He has some obscure ones: “Email yacht clubs – you used to live on a
boat!” It could work. “Write a blog describing your efforts, other people will
want to know what works and what doesn't.” He’s insistent that all of his ideas
will work. I begin to work on the
logistics of instigating them in my head.
Corrina, the yacht I grew up on.
Many sensory memories, of salt made by drying sea water on deck overnight, the wind in my hair as I lay on the bowsprit watching for land,
fingers trailing in the water as we rowed ashore to a new beach in a new country.