Wednesday, 7 October 2009


I am now guilty of adding to the self-perpetuating machine that is the blog-o-sphere.

A night of insomnia that no amount of pillow fluffing and counting sheep could cure, drifted into the white noise of the pointless randomness that sometimes occupies my mind. Out of that randomness came the idea of this blog.

I'm not sure why I'm doing this, or if I even have a lot to say, but it's here now and I can't take it back (well I can, but it sounds much more purposeful like that).

Will anyone read this?

Or will I post randomness for six months, each post chipping away at my self esteem as I wonder why I bother when nobody reads it, then to suddenly have the world in focus as I receive my first comment, only to find it's my mother asking why I have time to blog, but not to call her?

I even went down the route of shameless self promotion to a select group of people - sorry about that, and if you're reading 1) thanks for having a look, and 2) remember the one rule.

Whatever my reason for doing this, I find venting about love, loss, happiness, sadness, or even why the new improved microwave meal I bought neither looks like it did on the box, nor tastes as good as the picture suggested it would, somewhat.......... therapeutic.

Perhaps life is just one big microwave lasagne: You sit in anticipation of the mouthwatering layers of pasta, succulent beef and sauce, topped with golden cheese, saying "eat me!', only for you to rip open the clear plastic cover (that never comes off in one piece by the way) and be presented with a steaming pile of rubbery slop, sloshing around in a bendy plastic tray that is burning the crap out of your fingers in that way only something from a microwave can.

The Internet is a forum where all people have a voice and can say what they want and get it all out there (in anonymity if they wish), without having to pay $/£150 per hour to sit on a psychiatrists chez-lounge and be told to love yourself more.

Anyway, the blog is here and I'm laying on my big virtual leather sofa, in the big plush virtual office of my virtual psychiatrist, prepared to tell all.

I guess we could ask the question; are we now our own therapists?

Charge yourself 150 per hour and rake in a fortune.


The Random Within


  1. You think you have problems? I've got about 5000 words-worth of essays to write, yet I spend my time posting comments on random blogs instead.

  2. Ah, the curse of "I'll just do this or that before I start. It will only take a minute".

    Now, you have to tidy up 3 more times before you start any of that study stuff. I would have added re-arranging your CD collection, but CDs are a bit retro nowadays.

  3. Oh, shit - and I meant to say:


    All my CDs are well tidied. They're in the cellar at my folks'. Mind, I could do with relabelling some of my mp3s.