Do you remember the first time?

Blogging, blogging, blogging. I am sat, with naturally terrible posture, slurping tea which I made as if blindfolded and whipped my a mustached accountant, contemplating a sip of wine despite the fact that I only awakened one second ago, pretending I have a clue what to write in my blog. My first blog.

It’s going to be terrible, of course, because everything that everyone has ever done has been terrible the first time around. When you first tried to talk, did you really say the word ‘mummy’? ...Probably not, you probably exerted an incoherent babble that your parents interpreted as ‘mummy’ as to remove themselves from the shame that their baby is just a squidgy mass of farts and wasted oxygen.

The scary thing however, is that, stiflingly enough, that seems to be what blogging is about: After snooping around the blogs of others, it became clear to me that you can write any insipid garbage and people still seem willing to read through it. So does it really matter what I write? Look, you are reading this now, it’s not about anything and you’re still reading it, I could, potentially have countless things to say and talk about, but instead I am writing absolutely nothing, and you are still reading! You bloody fool! All the things you could be doing and you are choosing to read this pile of rotten cabbage, garnished by an owl carcass.

It is, of course, more my fault than yours. I should be obliged to write about something of sustenance. Something of value with regards to my life and my artwork, something which can provide you with substantial insight. And I will, in time, it’s just that the alluring notion of being able to write absolutely nothing is momentarily taking precedence. Sorry about that.

So there we are, my first blog is about the prospect of writing a first blog. I knew it would be terrible. But you have to start somewhere, and fear not, future posts will be vaguely tolerable.