Preludium

First of all, I feel I should explain that I started a blog at the beginning of this year and even managed to post a couple of entries before I became slightly disillusioned with the whole thing and left it behind. Now, I feel that I am ready to rejoin the ranks of the pseudo-intellectuals, overly opinionated and the other, generally nice folks out there in the ether of the internet with what can probably be described as slightly frustrated and bemused though ultimately inconsequential observations on life, the universe, everything and possibly the number 42.

Secondly, the title has changed from something meaningless on a bottle of brown sauce to an adaptation of a book title imprinted upon a mug. Yes, the more observant among my [limited] audience will have noticed that I have appropriated the title of Virginia Woolf's seminal essay and dragged it, most likely kicking and screaming, into the 21st century. I would like to think that there is some deeper meaning to this particular blog title but I saw my mug and thought "I know what would make an interesting and slightly pretentious title" and typed it eagerly into the box. Woolf's argument was that all women needed to be able to write was money and a "room of one's own". Well, I certainly don't have any money, and technically the room I am in does not belong to me but I am at liberty to type away in my bed whilst sipping chamomile tea from my purple Penguin Virginia Woolf mug. So it is sort of the same thing...

However, as the clock ticks ever closer to 1am, I can feel my ability to write anything coherent slowly ebbing away. Therefore, I shall bring this short, introductory post to a close, but fear not, I shall endeavour to write my first post tomorrow when I can actually focus on the screen in front of me and my thoughts are not dominated by the calculations of just how much sleep I shall get before my alarm goes off. And with that promise of future creative productivity, I bid you adieu.