A shaky start

"Just don't write anything which could get you sacked," he mumbled through a mouthful of toast. "Oh, come on" I said looking for a sign of reassurance, the confidence notably dropping out of my voice and my finger already erasing the first traces of my blog, "What could I write which would get me sacked?"
It all started with the comment "You could rest a pint of Guinness on that behind." It was the sort of remark, made in jest, which added weight to my brother's childhood insistence that I was in fact adopted. With wiry, Afro blonde hair, skin that soaks up the sun and a sizable African woman's bum he had a point. "Thanks uncle Nicholas, it's almost as big as yours," I grinned. Then came the dreaded question. I don't mean the one which seeks to prise open the doors to your love life and invite frank comment on the suitability of various men to be welcomed into the family. I mean the one, which all people who write for a living are asked, "When are you going to write a book?". Let me be clear, coming from my dear uncle, who once told my brother's ex girlfriend she dressed like a Romanian refugee, this comment was not innocuous. So I decided after much deliberation to start little by little, so hopefully each sentence will roll into a paragraph and finally I'll have a jumble of words knitted together through wit, humour and empathy; a mixture of me, people I've met, stories I've covered and all in the public eye.