For a start, the word “blogosphere” is hideous. “Blogging” is little better, sounds kind of seedy, like “dogging” (in the British sense). “Blogger” conjures up an image of Billy No-Mates hunched over a keyboard in the dark of night. And “blog” could easily be a synonym for toilet paper.

Then there is the blogs themselves, well, some of them anyway. If there is a god then please save us from any more Christian and Atheist blogs respectively proclaiming your existence or otherwise. This debate had some resonance while there was a loony in the White House (and was something I confess I indulged in at the time) but now that things are back to relative normality it’s all becoming a bit pointless. God exists for those who need it and doesn’t for those who don’t. Most people don’t care either way and almost no-one reads blogs about it.

Which brings me to family blogs. Most are innocent enough, just the everyday lives of ordinary people. But then there’s Mr and Mrs Stepford. Featureless and flawless.

Mr Stepford is stripped of all personality; doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks and certainly never masturbates. Mrs Stepford doesn’t look as though she knows how, but regardless has managed to knock out two perfectly formed, impeccably groomed, though surprisingly ugly, offspring. Both of which are home-schooled, have already been accepted to a prestigious university, are learning to play at least two musical instruments whilst still finding time to help the elderly and numerous other good works.

There they all are, impossibly happy, beaming out at you from a portfolio of pictures that looks like it was produced by an ad agency (though in reality Mr Stepford is a dab hand with Photoshop). There’s the home they live in and the car they drive (it used to be a SUV until the Stepfords’ church belatedly discovered global warming). And there’s a photo of the church, under which the Stepford children declare their intimate relationship with Jesus even though they’re too young to have an intimate relationship with anyone. Everything and everyday is just wonderful.

And that’s the problem, there’s way too much wonderfulness in the blogosphere. From those with perfect marriages – “Hi everyone. Harry and I have been together for 10 fantastic years and we’d love to share our secret with you.” – to those whose every waking moment is bliss because they’ve found Jesus, Bhudda or Elvis. And that’s not to mention all those presumably ecstatically happy people who live in the “best goddamn country in the world” (America, inevitably) who feel the need to adorn their blogs with flags and other strange regalia to illustrate the point.

Don’t get me wrong, I wholly approve of positive thinking but where I live the people just don’t shine out like that, I’d be scared if they did. They sometimes get dirt under their fingernails, shout at their kids and drink too many beers. Of course, they probably don’t read blogs, perhaps that’s their problem.

Finally, let me apologize to anyone called Stepford. My use of your name is entirely generic and not aimed at you – unless the cap fits, of course.