There are a billion blogs on this planet, and every day a couple of hundred thousand start up and an equal amount wind down. Women and their diaries, men and their accomplishments, kids and their bragging, corporations pretending to be something else.
– and every one out of three of them seems to be a surfing blog, and sometimes one of the hundred thousand surfing blogs is worth hanging onto, despite its challenges to morals and religion and common sense and the rules of engagement.
BR challenged them all, in particular those writers in the thrall of the surfing corporations and their publicists. They had no answer to the voluble monster grown up in their midst.
Rottmouth had no name, and this was the major and only criticism they levelled at him, a subjective criticism – he also welcomed comment from every quarter, and as we know there are some purely liverish bastards out there.
He spoke up, he gathered an audience, he enunciated an unpopular position, and his forum of thought and comment was that place in the bar you wanted to be sat at – So
fuck bless you Brew, and you Enoch, and all that you do, and I’ll have a schooner next time around.