Why do I own an internet community? I've been asked this a lot since the inception of The Caffeine Machine back in 2007. It's a legitimate questions the majority of the time and, unfortunately, an insult on others; I try to answer both aspects, whether the question is legitimately inquisitive or simply to castigate me. So, why? Do I enjoy the tyrannical show of power when I see my name on the main-page of the site? Do I beam with omnipotent glee as I occasionally ban a pest? Or perhaps it's the pride at simply being the founder of a community I enjoy? It's not the first one, I assure you – this site is based off strict democracy – and it's not the second one. It's the third.

A little history?

TCM (please don't sue, Mr. Turner), was formed in a 'revolutionary' set of circumstances, if you will. The vast majority of the community we currently play host to came from another discussion board, one quite dissimilar in its make-up to this humble abode. We, in essence, were the nice, intelligent and active centre the rest of the previous site crowded around – we were the posting, the people who attracted other members. Yet, the owners of that site effectively ruined their own community with a series of forays into the regular posters routine (banning for very little, implementation of shocking changes like forums you had to pay to use, heavy advertisement etc). Out of that little fiasco TCM was born and has continued to thrive. These set of events are what gave the site its founding principles: democracy, free from grossly excessive advertisement and so forth.

I co-own this website with a friend of mine. His name is Steve Milligan, also known as 'El Capitan' on the boards. We don't make any kind of profit because we have no advertisements and thus no advertisement revenue. Would I like to one day make a profit? Of course I would; cash rules everything around me, after all, and to perhaps gain financial stimulus from doing something I thoroughly enjoy would be fantastic. Would this be against the founding principles? In a sense, yes, yes it would. In another, and this is the view I adhere to, it'd simply be the natural evolution of the site. Advertisements, simply put, are money-makers, and as extra features such as more space (the server space is not infinite) and upgraded forum features cost money – a lot, actually – advertising is a logical next step. This, however, is a long way off.

TCM will eventually need the above. Advertising is one of the few ways in which to develop any aspiring website and definitely the most effective. If I, my co-owner, the staff and the posters wish to develop this site into the dream we started off with then we simply have no other choice. I wish for the site to be self-sustainable, to have a community of diverse individuals, from the intellectual poster in The Connoisseur's Choice to the cinema buff in The Colonel's Entertainment Emporium; a buzzing, diverse community, not too big but not too small is what I envisioned when I first proposed this place in that sultry and moribund site. We're a long way off, of course, but we've hardly implemented any of the goals which we've set out yet.

The discussion forum is currently populated by the people from the original site. From the amazingly bi-polar Punisher to the effeminate Easy, from the sardonic CJ Dragon to the humorous xenophobic ravings of Meldrew, from the intelligent postings of Disintegration to the heroin-induced ravings of PMF, we have a little bit of everything. We're quite lucky in that respect, to have intelligence, humour and good discussion.

So, why do I own this website? Because, in short, I enjoy the community and the variation involved. I enjoy the idea that TCM could one day be a social hub, harvesting a culture of diverse discussion. Quite frankly: I enjoy TCM.

All Hail Mother Caffeine.

I have a very concerning (economically, at least) tendency to purchase more books than I need. This is mainly due to the excitement at what is inside them, although I'd be lying if I said a positive comment on the front or a well-designed front-cover haven't swayed me into spending my money. I read, on average, one book every week and a half. That might be good if you factor in the average literary intake of the average individual, but when you consider, for instance, that during my last trip to Waterstones - a very good, albeit expensive, book shop - I spent fifty pounds, purchasing five books, then the intake doesn't seem to match up with the expenditure. In short, I read at a rate that lags behind the stock on my shelf.

I suppose you could trace this to a material need to own as many books as possible. You could also put it down to an almost obsessive desire to read and learn as much as is applicable to my intellect. I have come to accept it as a concoction of both the former and the latter. I love the smell of a brand new book; the stiffness and fine glow of untouched paper, and the crispness of a book without curled pages or the puissant nature of an uncreased cover. The process of creating an exciting collection is another brilliant piece of my enjoyment; the book just being there assures me in some way, a way I suspect is associated with my knowing if I ever need to reference a particular book or subject, the chances are I have something on my shelf to indagate. I like having that, especially given my tendency to fall into debate. Reading a book is all well and good but having it there as a reference is all the more assuring.

Being in the book shop itself is a fascinating thing. Knowing you are surrounded by decades of imagination, of study and the culmination of a professors lifetime research or the zenith of a science fiction author's work, is quite a magical thing. I suspect that this 'magic' is part of the reason I spend so much money in these places. Second-hand book stores, like a one close to me, are especially potent in reducing my abulia towards my money. It's like taking a kid to candy chop with an unlimited budget, at least that's what it feels like being in a largely empty bookstore.

I like variation when I read. If I read the same thing for too long, even if it is brilliant, I get bored with the book. This is why War and Peace intimidates me as a read alone book and it's also why I read tend to have a few books on the burner at any one time. A mammoth stretching some obscene length, I have put off reading it. However, the sheer sight of it on my bookshelves is a nice sight, for I know if I ever do want to pick it up again I just have to roll off my bed, stretch out my arm and slide it out from between Moby Dick and The Koran (I don't organise my books – I probably should, I know).

If you asked my girlfriend, she'd tell you I tend to keep at least one book with me at all times. This if a general insurance policy against an ambush of boredom. I find a lacuna of sorts looms over me when I'm, say, in a hotel room with nothing to read or bored at a party (reading at gatherings has resulted in me being labelled a gauche. I deny this). A book usually fills that, so I've learned to bring a novel along with me where I can. This doesn't make me any different from the woman who takes a magazine in her purse or the man who doodles on a notepad, it just makes me more partial to books. So, like the sketches or the magazine-reader, I tend to like, as I've said earlier, variation. Having as many books as possible makes sure variation is rarely an issue with me.

Right now I have two books loaned out: one on children who kill and another on time travel. Could I do that with a short, 'sensible' collection? I think not. I like to think that when a friend speaks to me about how all people who kill are innately evil, or posters on my website who wrongly attribute policy views to politicians like Barrack Obama, that I can recommend or loan them a book that might change their minds. I appreciated it, for instance, when a friend of mine with a similar disposition loaned me a copy of Allister Campbell's memoirs to study, so I'm happy being in a position to reciprocate such aid.

When I tell my girlfriend, friends or mother these simple truths of my book-buying habits, I simply get blank looks or shaken heads. I understand such concerns; for someone like me – not exactly an exemplar of finance – the figures I spend on reading are quite dramatic. 'Then again,' I reply earnestly 'I could spend it on booze, junk food and video games'. I have a consistently hard time trying to mollify their views down my level, to assure them a lifetime of understanding The Communist Manifesto is worth more than a few shots of whisky.

I don't expect I'll succeed any time soon. What can I say? I love books.