I'm an avid, but decidedly average guitarist. Growing up I was surrounded by friends who were wonderful guitarists. My high school seemed to produce them like an assembly line. I got plucked from the line by quality control at a very early age.
To this day many of my closest friends can still make a bunch of nylon, steel and spruce, sing like a bird. Despite all my efforts at learning, my music still sounds more like the wailing of an ebola victim than bird-song.
Born of the lack of a quality all you could eat restaurant in 1930's, depression-stricken London, the Astray Buffet first flung open it's doors on Fleet Street in 1931 (in the process, injuring a sleeping drunk who'd set up camp in the foyer, according to the Associated Press).
With it's prime locale — merely metres from the Royal Courts of Justice and a short stroll from the Headjob and Handbrake — the original Astray Buffet soon gained notoriety for all the wrong reasons. In short, those who could afford to indulge in it's delicacies — namely, the legal professionals and journalists that frequented that quarter of London — would never get the chance.
Me: So I'm thinking of giving this whole blogging thing a bit of a go. What do you think?
My Friend: A blog, what the hell for? Haven't you got like ten web-sites sitting out there silently gathering cyber-dust already? Why not re-vamp one of them?
Me: Because I want to write what I want to write, when I want to write it.