Doodle by Andre Jordan of Andre Jordan fame

“Dreams, nonsense, mind dribble …”

“Dreams, non­sense, mind dribble — it’s uncer­tain really what this blog is actu­ally about. The author doesn’t seem to know, but it doesn’t seem to mat­ter. Here you will find beau­ti­fully writ­ten night thoughts about dis­ap­pear­ing, short stor­ies about over­weight whales and gen­er­ous squir­rels, mean­ing­less lists, jokes and some quite aston­ish­ingly dull pic­tures of chairs, road signs and head­ache tab­lets. The thing that stops this from being run of the mill rub­bish is that every entry makes you ever more curi­ous.” — Review of An Unre­li­able Wit­ness by Johnny Dee; The Guard­i­an, Sat­urday 1 Septem­ber 2007.

There are more questions than answers

What is this place?
It’s a site called An Unre­li­able Wit­ness. It has been in exist­ence since 20 May, 2006. Which was a dis­tinctly unre­mark­able Sat­urday.

Is this one of those blog things I keep hear­ing about?
Oh dear. Yes, it is. But let’s not tell every­one.

Can I go now? Please?
No. I demand your unwaver­ing atten­tion and slav­ish devo­tion.

Why is it called An Unre­li­able Wit­ness?
It starts with an A. Such a ruse is guar­an­teed to get me near the top of most people’s read­ing lists. Unless they try to be clev­er and omit the ‘An’, in which case I send them an aggrieved email point­ing out the cor­rect title.

So what is your site about?
It’s all about the words.

No, really. What’s it about? This is an about page, after all.
It really is all about the words. There are lots of them con­tained with­in these vir­tu­al pages, since I am not known for my brev­ity. I love words and adore exper­i­ment­ing with lan­guage. Wheth­er the sen­tences are strung togeth­er in para­graphs, without para­graphs or punc­tu­ation, on post-it notes, on crumpled pieces of paper, or on notices and advert­ising hoard­ings, it is for ever and for always about the words.

Why don’t you write simple, straight­for­ward entries about going shop­ping, doing the wash­ing-up, put­ting togeth­er a flat-pack ward­robe pur­chased from IKEA, or watch­ing an inter­est­ing tele­vi­sion pro­gramme about fer­rets?
Because it bores me wit­less, and because my life is reas­sur­ingly dull and unevent­ful. I used to write more every­day posts on my first site, between the years of 2000 and 2005. If you prefer that sort of mater­i­al, you may wish to vis­it a sec­tion of the site called Pre­serving, where you can find a selec­tion of entries from the blog that pre­ceded this one, called Wherever You Are. You’ll be relieved to dis­cov­er that I omit­ted any­thing that was obscenely dull or very much of its time, writ­ten back in the dial-up mists of his­tory, so the remainder is almost read­able.

You’re very mys­ter­i­ous, you know.
Thank you. You say quite the love­li­est things. To show my grat­it­ude, I shall smile sweetly and pat you on the head.

No, that was a subtle way of ask­ing who you are.
Gosh, you’re far too clev­er for me. Well, that would be telling. I’m either someone extraordin­ar­ily fam­ous who does not wish for their iden­tity to be revealed to the gen­er­al pub­lic, or I’m simply one of those awk­ward people who wants to avoid hav­ing sev­enty-six pages of res­ults about them­selves appear on screen if their name is typed into Google. It’s prob­ably the lat­ter. My iden­tity is no great secret, but I just don’t like it to be splashed every­where. I’m quite shy. I used my name on my first site and ended up with at least twelve unhealth­ily obsessed stalk­ers.

No. I adore obsess­ive fans, though. So please apply with­in, using the handy Stalk­er Hot­line page. Be sure to include a pho­to­graph of the exact loc­a­tion where you have man­aged to spray paint the URL of my site, thus con­firm­ing the depths (and hope­fully the deprav­ity) of your utter devo­tion.

I’ve read some of your posts. I don’t under­stand them.
Hush. Don’t tell every­one. Just nod know­ingly and pre­tend you do.

Do you own a thesaur­us?

Finally, tell the truth: your writ­ing is all about me, isn’t it?
Yes. Unques­tion­ably.

What you said

“It’s a long time since I read such pom­pous crap … you have a very high opin­ion of your own writ­ing. It’s a wrong opin­ion too, pre­ten­tious twat.” — Turtle Fea­tures

“Did any­one ever tell you that you have really cute eye­lids?” — The Gold­fish

“This list alone has me feel­ing seat-wet­tingly com­pelled …” — Mor­gan

“Can we stop the frivolity and go back to the cold-blooded horse mur­der­ing, please? No? *bat­ting lashes*.” — Ani

“This post is about me, isn’t it?” — Andre Jordan

“It must be art, because I don?t under­stand it. But I know I like it.” — Angelalala

“I haven?t actu­ally read all of this yet because I acci­dent­ally sprayed my com­puter with ginger short­bread crumbs and had to wipe it down.” — Katy New­ton

“Abso­lute magic. Every last word. Your words have that insight to take a step back and view everything under a dif­fer­ent light, paint­ing … a dif­fer­ent taint­ing.” — Miles Away

“There is a smooth­ness to your prose which is very com­pel­ling. I read one of your posts the oth­er day, a lot of words, and by the end of it, I couldn?t think what they were and yet I was enthralled through­out.” — Edvard Moonke

“I would so love to trace a fin­ger over your pages and carry an old, worn out copy of you in my bag.” — Ani

“You nev­er fin­ish any of your stor­ies. It?s so annoy­ing. Most of the time I haven?t a fook­in? clue what you are on about. Why can?t you just write some­thing prop­er for a change? With a begin­ning, a middle, and an end? You know the sort of thing I mean: today I went to town with my friends. We went for a dead posh meal. Then we went home again. I love my friends. They are great.” — Andre Jordan

“Some people spend far too much time blog­ging. Thank­fully An Unre­li­able Wit­ness is one of them.” — The Overnight Edit­or

“Some­times you make me think I couldn?t prop­erly cap­ture an emo­tion to save my life. In the best pos­sible way.” — Jess

?An Unre­li­able Wit­ness: bet­ter than sex with an unat­tract­ive psy­cho­path.” — Petem­askrep­lica

“These posts where you give free rein to your ima­gin­a­tion, your feel­ings, your words and your intern­al dia­logues are by far my favour­ite. Though i can see too why oth­ers might think they are impen­et­rable and obtuse.” — Mizyake

“As I read this, I felt spe­cial and I wished I was there in the dark listen­ing to this song while you — the face­less you that I only know through t?internet — held my hand. Very power­ful words those.” — Ari­el

“*Sniff* I?m so proud to be one of your stalk­ers!” — Jack

“This encap­su­lates so many situ­ations, could be inter­preted in a hun­dred dif­fer­ent ways, or might mean a mil­lion and one things, but I know what it means to me. And with­in that thought lies the essence of excel­lent writ­ing. Beau­ti­ful.” — Miss Ver­tigo

“Don?t want to be rude. but I don?t get it. I don?t mean to break the spell of every­one fawn­ing over what you write here, say­ing it?s won­der­ful and per­fect and you should be pub­lished. But what?s it all ABOUT? Emperor?s new clothes, I think.” — Anonym­ous

“I?m going to steal this post and tell every­one I wrote it.” — Ben

“I?d like to write some­thing pro­found. Fail­ing that I?d settle for sar­casm, but it would appear I have been rendered (mainly) word­less in the face of this piece of your mind.” — Cheer­ful One

“I want to avoid sleep forever, tak­ing res­pite only through your words.” — Ani

“I wish I could say I under­stand com­pletely. What it is you are say­ing. But some­how without know­ing the mean­ing it is still intox­ic­at­ingly mov­ing. Beau­ti­fully con­fus­ing.” — Cam­ille

“Have you thought about writ­ing poems instead? I always have this urge to read your posts as if they were poems.” — Timbo

“This is all about sex, isn?t it? Yes, I thought so.” — Melo­grana

“I think you are mad. I am try­ing to decide if you are mad in a good way or not.” — Anoth­er Girl, Anoth­er Plan­et

“Mr Wit­ness, your blog has clearly become a haven for insanely col­oured squir­rels. Well done. Unique.” — Bohémi­enne

“One who can write so boldly, with such sear­ing hon­esty and pin­point accur­acy of all that embod­ies life, from the bloody awful to the bloody bril­liant and all the infin­ite lay­ers in between.” — A Kite Rises

“In some of your oth­er pieces, you lose your dis­cip­line and become indul­gent, lush in your writ­ing, ver­ging on purple.” — Nut

“Some­times. I?m afraid to come here. Pre­cisely because of things like this. (Yes, I mean that as a good thing. To be clear.)” — Imo­gen

“Although I find the ego-mas­sage rather sickly, I am temp­ted on occa­sion, just on occa­sion mind, to join in. I like. It made me jit­tery on read­ing and made me want to ask wheth­er you?ve been doing a lot of coke recently?” — Boud­ica

“Thank you for writ­ing the most beau­ti­ful words. Even if you per­haps do not think them as beau­ti­ful as some oth­ers; dif­fer­ent people find beauty in dif­fer­ent things.” — Miles Away

“Wait, so your real name isn?t Unre­li­able Wit­ness? I feel jipped.” — Ker­mit