An old friend – a Mr Trellis of North Devon – asks, not entirely originally, in an email “Are you short of something to do - you seem to spend all your life on the fucking internet”. I find this a difficult problem with which to wrestle. If I am spending all of my life on the fucking internet, then surely I am not short of something to do, which brings us on to the implication behind the comment, that there is little value in spending time on the fucking internet. The deeply philosophical musings lead one to contemplate what, if anything, are the human activities that have some value. Given that all of us are going to die, then, human emotions and feelings aside, all activities are equally pointless, and at least being on the fucking internet brings all of us able to connect to the fucking internet up or down to the same level. There are web sites where the content is largely the work of professional writers. Those wishing to link to the Independent site to which I provided a link in my previous posting, will now have to pay to access the article. I will not charge people to read my ramblings. From what I can see there is little to chose in quality between the postings of, say, my old friend Watski, than that of the professionals, I make a point of regularly checking his journal, and usually read everything that he writes, whereas there are few professional sites that I visit so regularly. It is my view, and I may be wrong, (although I have never experienced that particular circumstance), but I would suggest that it will benefit a human being more to read Watski’s comparison of his journey to work with that of the round-the-world sailor, than to struggle through the verbose offerings of the national press.
* JET = Jug Eared Twat
* HOT = Horsefaced Old Trout