Blogs with actual purpose and clear intent are no fun at all. Actually, they're probably the reason blogs haven't been widely condemned as the final nail in the coffin of civilization. I cry for the child who is born in the world filled with blogs like mine. And you have to be more than a bit bored to read random (i.e. you don't know the person behind the blog) blogs that are delicious spur of the moment postings (guilty, as charged). But I still get a particuarly indescribable feeling when I read such a blog. 25% jealousy, no doubt, since I can't hope to create anything nearly as focussed as some of the stuff out of there. Of course, I have something they don't. And when I unleash the it's full power..!

If we talk about what I really don't like though, as opposed to feeling something indescribable, then I don't like personal blogs. As in blogs that recount pretty much every little event in someone's life. Why? It's no fun! Of course, it's probably not meant to be read by randoms, it's meant for people who actually know the blogger. And at the end of the day, they probably have a larger reading base than I do, despite my superior ability to mould disjointed ideas into something truly hellish (this blog, of course!). Which, in effect, leaves me the loser of the whole battle. And what a battle it has been. But I'm not quite through expanding this blog in strange new ways. Far from it, actually. It's such an artistic challenge, you know, redefining the very nature of the blog; it's something I really have to work towards.

Ah, that was inspiring. Not to you, perhaps, but to me. Replacing inspiring with insipid of course. Did you catch that witty remark? It was witty, you must hand me that! Ahh the life of an Englishman. I wonder what it's like.

It's strange how sometimes life is a lot like a bowl of fruits. If you keep eating, you get sick.

What's stranger, and far more disturbing, is how often a blog is published. So many people, and yet do we have that much to say? The answer, of course, is yes.