It’s not the same as having a pen-name, or being a whistle-blower for whom invisibility is a necessity. There are people who post under a pseudonym for various reasons, and whose identities are clearly known. They make no effort to hide their identity, and openly acknowledge their identity when asked.
Then there’s the anonymous blogger. Opinions? He’s got plenty of them, and they are all staunch. Whether it is calling for Ireland to immediately rejoin the UK, or expressing delight in the deaths of British soldiers, there is no holding him back. No fence sitter he. He’s the king of the finger jab, and is quick to dimiss thousands as easily labelled “West Brits” or “Thatcherite Scumbags” or “Immigrant scroungers”. He’s a hard man.
Safely behind his keyboard, waiting for his mam to make him his tea, that is. But when he’s in work, he’s the guy that woman ignore and that other men make jokes about. Forthright? In work, he wouldn’t say boo to a goose. And God forbid he ever met an actual British squaddie. He’d destroy his trousers before he’d evern publicly vent the vitriol he posts nightly on the political boards.
Yet, it’s hard to hate him. Those anonymous tracts are all he is. He has nothing else, his youthful hopes and dreams dissipated as his peers achieved around him and he grew into the grey, middle-aged forgettable entity that he is. One day he’ll die, and five months later, someone on a board will ask “Whatever happened to TruePatriot147? He normally has something to say on this kind of thing” then they’ll move onto something else, not even aware that they have actually written a man’s epitaph.