I have now been here for nine weeks and I think I’m starting to run out of ideas.

The more argumentative amongst you might suggest that I never had any ideas in the first place. I don’t dispute this, but you must at least concede that I’ve done an excellent job of drawing attention away from that particular point.

Those of you who have the good fortune to be both astute and argumentative may offer the rebuttal that since nobody reads this drivel anyway, it hardly matters. Once again, you’d be quite right to say that, but I doubt that you would since doing so would logically invalidate your own existence.

If you are worried that you may have logically invalidated your own existence without meaning to, simply look in the mirror. If you are met with anything like the image above, consult a professional philosopher immediately.

To those of you too bloody-minded to accept the impossibility of your own existence, good afternoon once again. How are you? Good? Excellent. No, can’t complain myself. No, I’m not being sincere in the slightest. How kind of you to notice.

The more attentive amongst you may have noticed that two of my articles have been published in what would, at first glance, appear to be the wrong order. I would like to take this opportunity to reassure you all that this is not the case. The “four weeks” and “five weeks” pieces were deliberately swapped so as to take account of the fact that, due to an unfortunate set of circumstances involving a cricket ball, two rubber bands and a comedy vegetable, I ended up experiencing the fifth week of term before the fourth. Let me be clear on this, since I realise that you may well be feeling quite confused – the weeks themselves took place in the conventional order, it was only my experience of them that was subject to this irregularity. It was quite disconcerting at first, but once I’d got the hang of it, I managed to get through things with the minimum of fuss. Should a similar situation ever befall you, please write down your experiences on a postcard and send it to anybody but us. Good day.

Addendum: The official supervisor-man (I’m not going to do him the respect of calling him editor-in-chief” because the Internet has cheapened every aspect of human life) wasn’t around today, but the newsroom was left unlocked, so I just went in, wrote this, then spent half an hour playing John Barry songs and humming along. I regret nothing.

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