My son tells a story about sitting in a village pub in Essex, England,  with his then girlfriend’s brother. The chap turned to my son and in his wonderful Essex accent asked,

‘What is an olive?’

My son looked bemused and pointed to the olive dish in front of them.

‘They are olives!’

The young man turned his head on the side slightly and said.

‘No, I mean what is an olive, really?’

A deep and meaningful conversation about olives followed. And so, when I think about blogging I’m saying to myself. . .okay, I know what a blog site is, I’ve read a few blogs but what is a blog really? Why am I blogging?

I’m not prepared to throw words at a page in the hope that someone will read it and think it’s dull or clever, or disagree with it, or like it or dislike it. So, what am I doing this for, I ask myself?  Even as I’m typing I’m shaking my head in what is probably still a healthy ambivalence.  But. . .something about this process is holding me in. . .