I ask myself, why do I do it? What on earth is the point? Indeed, is there any point?
That last question is, possibly, the easiest to answer. And it's a one word answer: no. No, there is no point.
Which makes it pointless to attempt to answer the earlier question, what is the point?
So we are left with the first question: why do I do it?
By now - if you have not been driven completely crazy (or decided that I am) and drifted off to a saner world - you might be wondering what it is that I do that is so pointless. Could it be avoiding stepping on the cracks between the paving stones so that the bears don't jump out and bite me? Could it be stuffing my ears with Stilton cheese so I can't hear the cats yowling or the vixen howling? Well, I'm pretty sure some people would put it on a par with both those activities.
I'm talking about researching family history.
This is something that I have left aside for quite some time but, coincidentally, three people sent messages about my family tree while I was in France, all three providing snippets on information. And so I have started up again, firstly following downwards from my wife's 3 x great grandfather who was a farmer in Devon back in the 1840s. But I get hooked on the chase and end up with a list of names, dates and places for 4th cousins twice removed and even more distant relatives.
It really is quite pointless but strangely addictive.