The most boring website in the world.

I am, of course, referring to this one. No, no, please don't protest. It will only make me feel worse.

I mean, look at this thing. No dynamic content, no tragic life stories, no post-operative pics of that penis enlargement operation I arranged through a nice lady on the internet. Personally, I wouldn't give it a second glance if I hadn't myself created the bloody thing. 

The worst part is, I started off with such good intentions. I was going to have a nice little site with simple, unpretentious design. Nothing tacky, nothing flashy. Something practical, sober, durable, possibly even of use from a professional perspective. What I've ended up with, however, is something which reminds me quite overpoweringly of the Watford C&A, circa 1981: grey, with hints of taupe, smelling vaguely of gravy.

It's so conservative and dreary, I'm actually a little afraid of it. It doesn't feel like it's mine, but rather the knobbly extrusion into cyberspace of some extremely boring civil service psychometric test which I have to placate with multiple choice responses and offerings of knitwear.

So, in an attempt to overcome this wariness of my own website (but is it mine? is it?), I've decided to try and be a bit more personal and 'fess up to how I think this site should work and what I would expect to appear here on a more normal basis.  

As a general rule I want this blog part of the site to be more for messy ideas ideas that don't really belong anywhere else, as was the case with that thing about advertising. But I've got the feeling that on its own, this style of entry won't really be that interesting. I mean, having some evanescent authorial goitre posting up their thoughts without any complementary insights into who that person is will surely be pretty dull. Author, author, goes up the cry, what colour are thine underpants?

However, I'm pretty opposed to life-blogging; its primary appeal is visceral and vicarious voyeurism into the vicissitudes of the venerable, the venereal and the vexed. Not little people, like me. To put it another way, if you're not famous, no one cares if your cat just puked in your slippers.

The knack, then, must surely be to strike a balance between personal revelation (e.g. I just destroyed our kitchen sink - truly, I did, by attempting to rinse a 20L water cooler in it - feeling very proud right now) and impartial commentary on, like, the universe, man.

Which is what I intend to do. As of now. Don't say I didn't warn you, fiends.