The Blog

I expressed my inclination to write this blog some time ago, chatting with a noncommittal lover. She replied that blogging was quite out of fashion.

The 140-character tweet, she said, was very much the new medium. In racing to the world's attention the cumbersome blog is easily outrun by its newer, flightier cousin. E-evolution at play. I thought of Orwell and shut up about it.

Now some months have passed and I watch for signs of change. Twitter has been 'the thing' for a while - it has its scandals, ethical quandaries and international headlines. It must really be chomping up its fifteen minutes. The spotlight may yet fall back upon the humble blog.

And amidst a thousand darting hares, the tortoise might just slip back into the lead.

Thus, setting up this blog could prove accidentally fashionable. "The word was with blog and the word was blog," my disgruntled tweets may grumble as their audience forsakes their snappy maxims for my one new blog's weightier gospel.

I begin to blog: a few words on the word itself. The 'weblog'. A place to leave your thoughts for all to see. Is it a strange creation of our collective mind, or a sign of evolution happily taking to her new digital province? Either way, it's a giant leap towards the emancipation of the unsought opinion.

And if only its etymological journey stopped there! 'Weblog' - an unexceptional portmanteau, but a tolerable one.

Of course, being the shortcut-seeking little buggers that we are, it was never to be. We're all hare, no tortoise. No room in our brave new language for such indulgent excess of syllables. "Snippity-snip" says the impatient voice of man.

Thus it is that we arrive at the unfortunate word 'blog'. To blog; blogging: a horrible sound. Far better suited to an uninspiring new brand of Danish cooking fat or the early stage of a cutaneous horn. We might confess that our new word is not one to shout about.

Dear logophiles - a revision is not impossible! We could rededicate our temple; christen this new creature of language anew. We ought to be able to do it. Jet engines, fluorescence and Coca-Cola: all effects of the modern accent. We still have our primeval way with words. I smile on hearing the word evening.

And I won't offer suggestions. You've heard enough of my ramble. I shall simply sit back and set this tortoise I've brought into being down in the undergrowth of a Wild, Wild Web. Amongst so many other tortoises and hares, its own nature compels it to run an invisible race - little does it know where it has already got to. It sits on your screen, blinking, blissfully unaware that it has just crossed some sort of finish line.