I once wrote an article for the BBC about “bore out” – the idea that very boring jobs could cause workers to suffer a boredom-based equivalent of burnout.

Some of the examples submitted by the British public were superb: sorting two tonnes of mixed nuts and bolts, manually deleting email unsubscribers, waiting for components to emerge (slowly) from a machine.

Speaking about an office job, one man told me: “I used to go and sit in the toilet cubicles. I would always be the most eager person to get up and make the tea. I would hide behind my screen and surround myself with files so I looked busy, but I wasn’t doing anything.”

I’ve had some boring jobs of my own – I was once employed to watch the clock in a shop that had hardly any customers. I mean, I wasn’t paid to watch the clock, but there was NOTHING else to do. I sometimes reorganised the crisp packets just for fun.

Since then, I’ve been pretty lucky. Most of my jobs have been interesting. In fact, journalism sometimes tipped over from exciting into downright terrifying (read all about it in my book on local news).

And yet, despite enjoying my career, I still feel the need to write. And podcast. And draw. And lots of other things.

You probably do something similar, whether you broadcast your creative endeavours or not. Cooking, gardening, mending things – these activities scratch an itch that many jobs cannot. And it’s worth doing, even if the benefits aren’t easily counted. Indeed, most people with creative passions – including me – realise their projects probably won’t bring fame and fortune.

Most of us need to keep sorting nuts and bolts to pay the bills, but those creative projects still serve an incredibly important purpose. And they’re never boring. 

Comfort fiction

Life outside work is often too busy – and a little boredom might be welcome.

Yesterday, I enjoyed some peaceful time at the beach with my brothers, my kids and my niece. Well, I say peaceful – perhaps I should correct that to: as peaceful as is possible with young children repeatedly asking for an ice cream.

Still, as we surrendered to the inevitable and went to buy ice creams, my niece (who is ten) turned to me and said: “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”

This was unexpectedly highbrow, to the point that I stood and stared at her. She just grinned at me and walked on. I recognised the words, but I must admit I had to Google it to discover they’re the opening lines of the poem Leisure by William Henry Davies.

Still, my niece – and the Welsh poet – make a very good point.

Dicing with death

Earlier this week, we recorded a chaotic and marvellous episode of Dice Company, featuring no fewer than three guest stars.

The summer has been affected by the great scourge: scheduling conflicts. Never one to wallow in such setbacks, our heroic leader Tom has brought in reinforcements so we can keep going while various of the regulars sit on deckchairs staring wistfully out to sea.

And – while I dearly love my four Dice Company companions – new voices always change things in interesting ways. The episode in question will be out next month (we don’t have much of a “buffer” of finished episodes right now) and I think listeners are in for a treat.