Contrary to my previous statement, I regret to inform you that I am, in fact, now dead. My passing was unremarkable, and involved a Jehovah's Witness doorstep caller and a grand piano. Death, meanwhile, is very humdrum. Dull, even. Plus there are no sausages.


Despite appearances, I am not dead. I am merely waiting for the ceiling to fall on my head. Mrs Colin says that might happen sooner than I think. But then she is upstairs practicing particularly vigorous kickboxing with her new lesbian lover, Maureen.

Bank Holiday

Returning to work today, I faced the usual round of questions about what I did with my Bank Holiday weekend.

Needless to say, I did what I do every Bank Holiday. I went and sat on the steps of my local branch of the National Westminster Bank in the high street, and read a 73-page leaflet on life insurance policies. I do not think banks should have days off.

I did not tell my colleagues this, though. No, I said that I went to IKEA with Mrs Colin, where we bought some Flurrhugurr shelf units and an ornamental plant stand. They thought that was very interesting.


I have been 'tagged' in a 'meme' by someone called Imogen, who is a 'blogger'. I do not know what any of these words mean.

Apparently, I should reach for the book nearest to me, turn to page 123, go to the fifth sentence, and then post the next three sentences on my 'blog'.

If only Imogen had asked me earlier, I would have had so many books to choose from, including String Through The Ages, 101 Things To Do With a Bic Ballpoint Pen, the 1978 manual for an Austin Maxi, and a favourite fascinating tome called The Life and Times of a Car Park Attendant.

Unfortunately, I am currently sitting in my shed - where I have been banished by Mrs Colin whilst she is removing small hairs from intimate places that I am not allowed to see - and the only book I have to hand is called If You're Happy and You Know It by someone called Andre Jordan. Mrs Colin gave it to me for Christmas.

I have turned to page 123 and there is a picture. I think I have got this 'meme' thing all wrong. I am very confused. I hope the 'blogger' called Imogen will not be offended.

Can I go now?


This morning for breakfast, I had two crumpets and some Swiss cheese.

There were 127 individual air holes in each crumpet.

I do not know how many holes there are in the Swiss cheese, though. I am saving the enjoyment of counting those for later. Now that I am getting older, I can't take too much excitement at one go.

I will report back on my cheese-related discoveries at a later date.


As it is Saturday, I am partaking in the traditional male British pastime of watching the football.

The football was kicked onto my front drive by some children, two weeks ago.

I am watching that football.

It is not doing anything.

How exciting.


I have a bad case of the man flu.

I would like a more interesting virus. But no, I just have a cold.

Even my mucus is humdrum.


I am not dead, despite appearances. I am merely utterly bored.

I know it is ironic that the most boring man in the entire world is bored, but I don't care about that at the moment. Because I am bored.


It is the new year. As a consequence, I have returned to work in my humdrum office, full of good intentions and exciting, far-reaching plans.

This morning, I have already tested every one of my twenty-seven variously coloured ballpoint pens, and checked that my entire collection of staples remained pure, virgin and intact.

I have 5, 732 staples. That is exactly as many as there were before Christmas.

I feel relieved.

Round robin

I am writing my Chriistmas cards to all my friends, and updating them on events in the Humdrum household.

Dear Colin,

Happy Christmas. Nothing of any interest happened this year. I hope you have a fun time celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus.

Love Mr & Mrs Colin.