If you’re reading this post and thinking What?! I’ve never heard of Mumbook before…what the hell is that? Hang on, I’ll Google it. Wait, no, I’ll Bing it for a change, because people don’t Bing it enough, do they? They always Yahoo it or Google it and poor old Bing always gets left out then don’t bother. It doesn’t exist. Or maybe it does exist (I haven’t Googled it yet, maybe I should, yes, I’m certain I should before claiming it as my own invention, but I’m not going to because that’d throw me off the thread of what I’m thinking about writing next and that won’t do) but even if it does, then I’m going to hazard a guess and say that it’s not the same idea as I’ve just had, which goes something like…
Mumbook is here. Here, right here!
Forget Facebook. My invention, called Mumbook, would – maybe, as long as I wasn’t in charge of sorting out all the advanced technical stuff on which it depends so enormously, of course – mark the time in history when the power of mum knowledge would come together to form an unstoppable force of problem-solving to be reckoned with. That’s right, by interacting via Mumbook, mums from all over the world would connect together and discuss problems large, small and miniature, thus putting an end to problems of smallness and magnitude which have been doing everyones heads in for years. Not just mum problems, but world problems, political problems, teenage problems and man problems. An awful lot of man problems. All problems, in fact. Designed solely for mums to use on their own without interruption from others — which as we know is when mums work best and their problem-solving abilities are most streamlined and impressive — the problem of today wouldn’t be the problem of tomorrow with the new amazing Mumbook for all to see. Well, it might be, but that’d only be because it was a really big problem like there never being a member of staff at the train station when you really need help, and even then, they’d be working on it, all those mums together, ringing up train companies and giving them serious hell. Or just emailing if they were busy doing everything else that mums so often do. Or perhaps they’d even dare to march down there, thousands of mums together, arm-in-arm, and then pull the pants of the person in charge down and spank their behind until they fixed the matter. It’s hard for me to say, me not being a mum or a female.
There are a few fundamental problems with/surrounding the implementation of my big dramatic groundbreaking idea, of course, and these are things which I’m sure even a few hundred-thousand mums of above-average intellect would struggle to sort out. One of the biggies is the issue of ensuring it’s only mums who use Mumbook – I’m not sure where to begin here…so in fact I just won’t bother – and the other is the obvious backlash from dads who want their own Dadbook and kick up a right fuss. Then there might be a third and more ginormous problem to be overcome: the war that ensues as Mumbook and Dadbook go head-to-head, with me at its centre, which would be crazy. Or presumably me, depending on whether or not Mumbook does already exist, and depending on whether or not I am credited with its creation. There are so many scenarios…
Wait, I’ll check and see if someone’s already made it.
Bollocks. Seriously, B-O-L-L-O-C-K-S. It does exist. Of course it does! I really should have checked before, it ending in book and everything and being such a magnet for sticking a dot com on the end. Fancy me assuming that Mumbook didn’t exist…the intense shame I feel. The stupidity of my self-assurance! And it doesn’t stop there, the things making me feel stupid and shameful, I mean: from the looks of the already-existing-Mumbook, they’ve really put some effort into it as wel, and made it the only place for mums to be. When I Googled Mumbook, it came up with a cute, endearingly fat-armed baby being held up by a proud mum, and this, just to seal the deal: Mumbook is an online community of mums and pregnant ladies. Worse still, the page was and is just what you might expect when mums get together: it’s clean and simple, and it looks like it’s come right from the mega brain of some superbrilliant mum who knows all about graphic design. Like I said, the shame…not to mention all the mums out there who were reading the start of this post and laughing at me, already knowing so much more than me, already knowing that it existed.
But nevermind, it’s not the end of the world, I don’t think. On a day-to-day basis, things rarely are, right? The good news is that all that thinking — you may not have been able to tell but I did think quite a bit — did not go to waste. I’ll just start again with a new name. If only everything in life was that easy.
Mums Solve Problems. Here, right here!
There. Nice and simple. Easy as that. Stick a dot com or dot net on the end and you’re done. And if loads of people find themselves searching for Mumbook and by total accident find this blog instead, then, oh well…it’s not the end of the world again. I’m sure that in this big wide internet world both Mumbook and Mums Solve problems can co-exist together. At least I hope so, because if not that really puts the idea of mums collectively being great at solving things in serious jeopardy…we’ve already got Jedward, not to mention Bruce Forsyth’s body refusing to acknowledge the notion of Time. The last thing we need is mums at war.
When people find Mums Solve Problems – I probably should have Googled that come to think of it, but I’m not going to, I’m going to risk it – in the future, when it exists, if it exists, they’ll find the following basic information, perhaps, if I have anything to do with it:
Mums Sort Problems is where the mums of the world come together and sort out the biggest problems and issues facing mankind right now. Please note, in order to qualify as a member of Mums Solve Problems you must first supply us with approved DNA which shows that you are of official mum origin. It isn’t enough to photograph yourself naked to prove you have a vagina and a woman’s body, as we all know images of these things can easily be found by the dozen on Google image search. Thankyou for reading.
Something like that, I suppose.
I haven’t thought about the design and stuff yet, but time is on my side — as far as I know, which I now realise isn’t much as nobody knows the future, but still — so I don’t think this should be a serious problem. I’m certainly not going to let it stop me from sleeping, tomorrow being my 32nd birthday and all.
But seriously though…what if it does happen? Stranger things have happened, have they not?! What if Dragon’s Den star Deborah Meaden and tall rude millionaire Peter Jones are surfing online together – no idea why they would be doing that, or why they’d be using the same computer, but bear with me – and they come across this blog and decide to make the Mums Solve Problems network real…and official? I feel much more relaxed about my invention now, though, I’ll tell you that much. If that happens, I know that Deborah will take charge of things, and that because she is so big on being fair and nice and everything, I will wake up in the not-too-distant-future and discover a cheque of some hugeness on my door-step. Or in my porch. Or maybe I’ll just see a large sum of money deposited in my account while checking my online banking, with the words Love from Debs, enjoy your fortune! xx underneath it. Either way, I know Deborah wouldn’t let me down, just as she knows that I won’t let her down when I take firm control of the operational duties over at MSP. Good. (I haven’t worked out what might happen if the mums decide to revolt because I’m not myself a female or a mum, but do I need to worry? Not really. I doubt it. After all, if they get too lippy then I can just fire them. Great!)
But seriously…it could be good. It could be bloody brilliant! All this messy business with Palestine and Israel etc could be over in a couple of years if we get loads of mums on the case and remove all that angry, pent-up testosterone and decades of relentless fury that shows no sign of abating. There are just so many possibilities…we could have extra-large Wotsits, for example — not extra-large packets, but extra-large Wotsits! — as well as a protection order on the Cadbury’s Wispa to ensure that it never, ever gets taken off the shelves again. Maybe, just maybe, we could even have vending machines on train station platforms that sell clotted cream and scones. I know that the mums out there would approve of that, and maybe a few fat-hungry dads, too.
Until that day comes – or I receive a head-injury that transforms my brain into that of a geek’s who can understand and interpret numbers and HTML coding with ease and efficiency, so I don’t have to hire an army of geeks to do this for me and risk bankrupcy– we’ll just have to make do with Facebook and try and all get our mums on there and get the world all sorted. That’s not going to be easy for all of us, I realise – I refuse to pass judgement on my own mother here, less she comes cross this blog and refuses to bake exceptionally delicious things ever again – but we must try, mustn’t we? Yes, indeed we must.