Perry de Havilland on my blog once.
I don't suppose he's a regular reader of Green Ideas, but I still read him and it was odd to see him in the flesh Curbing the Crap Artists at the Adam Smith Institute this evening, sharing a table with giants of the blogosphere Guido Fawkes and Tim Worstall.
Politics neeks and blogging geeks are strange breeds and there were many of them (us?) crammed in a tiny front room, directly off the street. When each person spoke he (there were few women) introduced himself not by his profession but by his blog. As well as Samizdata, Devil's Kitchen, Englishman's Castle, Spinwatch, Great Simpleton, Despatchblog were all there although, much to my disappointment even surrounded as I was by early adopters, I spotted no one live-blogging, twittering or even rickrolling
From the panel it was all heady stuff: new technologies are empowering the common man to confound his betters armed the sword of accuracy, the rifle of knowledge, the rapier of complaint, the dagger of wit and, unfortunately also, the rubber cosh of coarse language. The blogosphere may be small but it's influential, it punches above its weight, it shines sunlight into the hideouts of the corrupt, and it exposes the ruses of the self-important.
Well, I'm buying it.
Tim Worstall's careful cynicism failed to conceal an infectious optimism for the growing power and influence of the ordinary blogger. Guido Fawkes - the rhythm, and cadences of his speech sounding unexpectedly and uncannily like Diane Abbot - bewailed the multiple failings of politicians and their trough-sharing lobby, but was strangely subdued compared to his lively on-line persona, while Perry de Haviland eschewed Samizdata's natural political stamping grounds for a paen to the new power of the complaining customer.
I'd like to hang out with those blogging guys. Perhaps I should quit procrastinating and start that single issue political blog I've been thinking about off and on this last year. (I've got an idea... and I know the time is right) But the thing is, I told Mrs Botogol over a London Pride and sun-dried tomato sandwich, I'd have to quit my indescribable job to find the time. If, that is, the credit crunch doesn't get me first.
Mrs B opined that I could, instead, quit surfing the net and emailing her 'interesting' tidbits all day long and use that time saved to write my blog from work.
Its not such a bad idea.