I think that blogging is possibly one of the most useful things one can spend one's time doing. These diaries are for life... or at least, until the internet stops working... and they're written with ease. The fact that they're on display to the world affects the way you write, but then equally doesn't seem too great an issue when you sit down to expose whatever it is that's on your mind. This, for me, is the allure of this habit I seem to have formed over the last few years. I've written tons and tons of rubbish about the minutiae of my existence, which can't possibly be of any importance to anyone anywhere... and yet it has been useful.

A couple of my friends have started blogging and their sites make for entertaining and illuminating reading. Keep it up guys... it's worth it. Sometimes, it's better to write things in general terms for anyone to read than it is to try to explain yourself to one person. I've found that writing my mind (rather than speaking it) has been fun...

Ok, so what difference will it make in one week's time that I spent the evening dining with a friend and watching Vic Reeves videos? Or that we screamed with laughter at his first ever Big Night Out video and hooted at the first of Bang Bang? What difference will it make that, despite my best intentions, I failed to avoid the subject currently known as "banging on about that bloody The Musical! thing"? I doubt it will make any difference, but it's recorded now and I seldom change or delete posts from the site.

Some people read my fringe diary from 2003 and commented on the fact that I recorded my eating habits as much as I recorded the shows I saw and performed. I think it seemed, to the casual reader, a rather odd thing to commit to posterity. But how do you know what's important? Hindsight is a wonderful thing and perhaps one day I'll review all this nonsense and filter out the things that are most fascinating... and maybe it will be the fantastic cooked breakfast you can get at the Sainsbury's in the Broughton area of Edinburgh... I've no idea!

Nowadays, I write comic things for performing. There was a time, however, when I used to write comic things for reading... at least they were always meant to be at least vaguely comical - though they were often related to real-life trauma. Here's a silly letter I wrote to the makers of Branston. What a futile waste of a few minutes that was... or was it?