What is this blogging of which you speak?

For many years now I have refused to have a blog, on the grounds that there are far, far too many introspective arseholes cluttering up the blogosphere. I believe I used that very word, arsehole, in a detailed speech I composed on the subject. A small, perfectly formed rant that would in fact do justice to any blog.

So why am I here? I am here because of my husband.

He has said numerous times, "you should have a blog." I choose to believe this is code for "your brilliance requires a wider audience, o best beloved." Though there is a slim chance it means "turn your words into tiny pulses of electricity and banish them to a barren corner of the universe, for I can stand them pouring out of your mouth no longer, wife."

I'm also here because I spend my working life rearranging deckchairs on the Titanic, otherwise known as working for a major daily newspaper. I have no illusions that the ship is going down, baby, maybe next year and maybe next decade, but someday soon, and don't you think the red chairs look a little better on the port side in the afternoon sunlight? Because I do.

It's a touch depressing to know you're working for a dying industry so I thought it would be cheering to write in a medium that's alive and kicking and still so young it keeps doing mighty poos in its pants, so to speak.

Did you spot the cavalier reference to poop in the previous paragraph? Yes, that can only mean one thing -- I am the parent of a small child. He will only feature sporadically here, usually employed to clinch an argument. He is far too young to have opinion-clinching abilities of his own, but I shall use him to give myself credibility to tell other parents what to do.

Onwards.