** Update, first thing Mum said to me last night was, “I had kippers for tea, but at 3.00 in the morning, ooh they did repeat on me….” What did I tell you!
I’m still in the first phase of grief, the “referring to a certain CEO as Mark Suckerturd” phase, because I’m a massive petulant child. I’ve appealed my Instagram ban for “violating their community standards”, but I’m not holding my breath. I’ll fill you in on the whats and whys and wherefores in the future, but for now – unless my account is reinstated, I’m having a month off. Yeah, you’ll see my blog posts because they’re linked to my FB account, but I’m not going to log in to it. I’m going to write more, I have quite a lot to say at the moment it seems, I’ll do some more vids for Youtube and I’ll see what happens. Pointless me starting a new Instagram account for a while until I’m certain that the old one is gone, but I already miss my friends and it’s been less than 24 hours. I can’t even tell them what’s happened and where I am.
I can promise you this though, I will come out fighting.
Meanwhile, I might actually finish decorating the stairs and landing as it’s been waiting over a year, I have several books to read on the rainy days, and when the sun is out I’ll be in the garden. It’s hard to be sad when there’s a full herd of Limousin cattle in the opposite field visible from your kitchen table.
In the great scheme of things this is nothing, minuscule, not important, but it’s 5 years of a journal of my life that I’ll never entirely be able to retrieve if the account remains classed as in violation. Only way I can describe it is imagine being at the end of writing your book and accidentally pressing delete. You feel a bit sick.
Should absolutely stress, I haven’t posted any content that’s in any way questionable, this is a thing that could easily happen to any of you, and it’s pretty much by chance.
For now, bereft as I am, I’m going to pop Netflix on, pretend this isn’t a lousy day to be fasting, when I am inclined towards eating a full cake, and as they say, chin up – tits out!
** Update, I accidentally sent the appeal document to Instagram twice. I got one reply in English saying that they’d looked at things and it appears to have been resolved. My little heart sang. I tried to log in, it is definitely not yet resolved…. then a second one 3 minutes later in French asking for a code number they’ve sent me, to be written on a clean piece of paper in my handwriting, and a photo to be taken of me holding it showing both my face and my hands. Now I am in possession of a photo where I look like a cheap ginger version of Jean Valjean. And so the saga continues…..