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I know that in six months time this will be totally meaningless (and no doubt highly embarassing). Still, I was a bit nervous. The first post: it seems so…defining.

I was going to write a little “Why I Blog”, after Orwell. In his essay “Why I Write”, Orwell gives four reasons for doing this sort of thing, all of which seem pretty appropriate:

• Sheer egoism. Of course.
• Aesthetic enthusiasm, or pleasure in writing. Yes, definitely.
• Historical impulse, the desire to see things as they are. Probably, although not as much as some bloggers. How do they get themselves worked up about – to take the most obvious example – government lies? I’m glad they do, I spose, but I can’t begin to understand them.
• Political purpose, using the word ‘political’ in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction.

But although I haven’t been able to resist reprinting his list here, I decided not to do a full-scale Orwell. Because of that last one: political purpose.

I guess do have a purpose. I couldn’t write the book if I didn’t. But I don’t want this blog to be like that. Having a purpose is a bit like having a goal, which means you’re going somewhere. I don’t want this to go anywhere. At the risk of sounding all self-helpy (“it’s about the journey, man”), I want to wander. Without direction.

I guess what I’m saying is this: I don’t want to push the world; I want the world to push me.

Now why aren’t more revolutions started like that?

Note to self. If you’re reading this in six months time, don’t cringe too much. Like Orwell said: “All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery”. Now get back to work.

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