I HAVE just discovered blogging.

Never heard of it?

Me neither, until I read how popular it was becoming.

So what is it? Well, at first I thought it was when you attempt a DIY repair at home and make a hash of it, but that is bodging.

Then I thought it might be something to do with running - like jogging through bogs.

But it turns out to be slang for someone who runs their own internet diary. They share their views, thoughts, life and opinions with the whole word. It allows anyone to become Bridget Jones.

How daft. A diary is private. Who would want to share it?

Millions, apparently. Including celebrities like Gillian Anderson, Maria Carey, Britney Spears, Boris Johnson and Sir Ian McKellen.

I tapped blog into Google and got 133m responses from such likely sites as Blog City and invitations to search the Blogosphere.

The Blogwise Directory listed several thousand bloggers like "Sore Eyes - the interests of a fortysomething geek." Or "Spicy Cauldron - a gay vegetarian witch, editor and poet, shares poetry and opinions with the world." Or CNUT (as in King Cnut) who offered "rants from beyond reality".

Not found anything to wet your appetite, yet? Then how about, "Wholesale Pants Warehourse - everything's coming up pants" or "elf reflection - living in changeling times: the journals, musings and website of a self-identified elf in exile" and "Shamus O'Drunkahan Has Issues - I have issues, ok?"

The reason blogging is so popular is because anyone can do it and become an instant pundit.

Everyone who thought they had a book in them can now write it and share it with the planet; anyone who ever wanted to see their words published can do so on screen at the click of a mouse in the knowledge that some unsuspecting surfer in Malibu or Mumbai can read it and perhaps even react to it.

"You're a skunk, Sore Eyes. If you lived closer I'd thump your head."

If anyone can do it, I thought, then I will, too, and logged on to a site which promised easy access to my own space in the ether of the world. I followed the step-by-step guide to immortality.

Except, what did I call myself?

You see, you have to choose a name for your blog. Wholesale Pants Warehouse and Shamus O'Drunkahan had already gone. I was faced with a dilemma. Did I want to be trendy, flippant, hip, literary, arty or funny? I mean, the whole success of the blog could depend on the name.

I opted for Bart Brains, which has a slight resonance of The Simpsons but has more to do with Yorkshire dialect - without brains. Which was apt as the first site I tried kept telling me "there were errors" and refused to launch me into space. The second site also hit a snag at lift-off and refused all cajoling.

But the third attempt - with a British site - was successful and I can be found on . However, my entry into the stratosphere of internet diarists came with a warning designed to keep my ego in check.

The message that flagged on my screen said simply: "You have no friends yet."

How sad is that?