The editor contacted me and said I should write a column. This caused me a considerable conundrum. Because I don’t know how to write in a column. How do you put yourself in a column?

“Idiot! I mean write a column!”

“Oh, hello, editor. I see.”

“Good, get on with it.”

Hello readers.
I am now a columnist.
This is me, writing a column.
I hope it is taking the shape
Of a column. It might look
Strange. But he said—

“Oi! What are you doing?”

“Writing a column?”

“I don’t mean a literal column, you fool. I mean in the style of a newspaper column.”

Well, how daft am I? Yes, I get it now. I must write with the verve and precision of a Fleet Street columnist. About what? I have no idea. So, I will make it up.

Mr Percy Ponsonby wrote to The Gazetteer claiming he did not receive his free packet of biscuits when he purchased last week’s edition. This troubled me for two reasons. First, I didn’t get any biscuits either, second, I don’t want our readers getting upset with us and third, I like biscuits.

Anyway, we sent him a teacake. Which he informed us, he fed to his spaniel named Stan.

I appear to have veered off, somewhat (veered off? That’s an understatement -Ed). What I wanted to say was this: I like the idea of being a columnist. I have many interesting things to write about. None of them will be political, apart from the ones about politics. None of them will be about writing, apart from this one. And none of them will be about cheese & onion crisps (I may have to correct that assertion).

But Fleet Street has a proud, long-standing tradition of producing the finest column writing anywhere in the world. The newspapers have moved on. But Fleet Street is still standing. I reckon it will ask to sit down soon.

Anyway, I am the columnist for The Gazetteer. It’s nice to meet you. I like to sign off my columns with a flourish. So…

See you next time (I couldn’t find any flourishes).