"Why am I here?"

I've been writing this blog for more than eleven years. It's never been wildly successful - I have a few (a very few) regular readers, and that's it. Nothing I've ever written on here has taken off, let alone gone viral. My most popular posts have less than 100 page views. Put another way, I do not have to worry about the comments getting unseemly. So why do I bother?

I don't really know anymore.

Let's look at how the blog has changed over those 11+ years, with a nonsense graph I made up:

Yes, what I write about has changed - fewer opinions and feelings, more music and pop-culture ("other stuff") but still no-one gives a monkey's, not really. And why should they? If you want a music blog, try The (new) Vinyl Villain, My Top Ten, Crying All The Way To The Chip Shop and Circles Of Life. If you want well-reasoned opinions, try Cultural Snow and Never Knowingly Underwhelmed. And if you just want rants, well, the Internet is hardly short of those.

But hang on a minute? If the only people interested in this blog, out of the entire world, can be counted on my fingers, why have I ever bothered?

I used to have a theory about this. Some time ago (eleven years, coincidence fans), for reasons you'll forgive me for not going into, I moved away, geographically, from my family and closest friends. Opportunities to ramble on over a pint with The Man Of Cheese - to "have a life chat", as we used to say - are few and far between. Similarly, I can't think when I last bantered over the green baize or shared a movie night with Cinders. These things, these friendships, matter. So my theory was, I think, that I was blogging to fill that mate-shaped hole: I was throwing my half of the conversation out there, hoping that something would come back. I could still ramble on about whatever had caught my attention, or say "you've got to hear this album/read this book/see this film", and maybe that would soften the impact of my social life going so off piste. And maybe it did.

Now though, despite my trying to be a bit more prolific on here, and even (at times) trying to be a bit more of the moment, heaven help me, readership is at an all time low. Comments likewise. I might still be throwing my half of the conversation out there, but I'm talking to myself.

For old time's sake, I'll offer +1 kudos point for identifying the film quote that has given this post its title. It's tricky, but the only clue I can give makes it very easy. Maybe I should offer +100 kudos points for anyone who actually claims the +1?

The only question left is, how long do I go on talking to myself? Isn't that the first sign of madness?