Please return to your homes. I don’t think I’ll be writing any more entries here. I’ve never been entirely happy with this but have never been able to put my finger on why. Every time I write something I feel dissatisfied. And any day I don’t write something I feel that something’s not working.

I’ve had enough of the sound of my own voice, or, to be more exact, trying to make it sound like someone else’s. I find my writing bland and nothing like the prose of all those I admire. It doesn’t worry me in my personal diary (that has suffered since I’ve been writing this), but something that’s “published” should be so much better. And I’m never happy with it.

I don’t think I’ve had much to say that’s worthwhile. At least, nothing that’s worked well in this format. I want to have somewhere to occasionally throw topical things, without broadcasting them to all and sundry via email, but I don’t want to start Another Bloody Weblog.

Every time I hear some incredible music, or see a fabulous piece of art in a magazine, or walk into a cinema, I think I should be doing something rather more creative than typing random thoughts up in ascii in the hope there are people reading them. Of course, every time I read some great words, anything from a novel to a weblog, I think I should be writing. But that’s not working here, so time to keep things to myself.