The other night I smoked some very strong grass and had some terRIFIC ideas about what to write here. I can't remember a goddamn one of them.

I want to do something that isn't domestic and isn't work. A hobby or pastime if you will. I have considered some sort of musical pursuit, learning a language, plumbing, simple electrical work -- all good choices. I have considered go to night school, or doing a degree by 'distance learning' (that's over the internet, folks), but I couldn't decide what I wanted to study.

So then I thought, I ask Google about everything else, why not this. So I Googled for fascinating pastime. Now read on...

Hit One: Watching Wildlife. You seem to have to go to Queensland for this one, which is not a bad idea, but difficult within the time and budgetary restraints.

Hit Two: Not a pastime as such, but the results of one. Creating little ceramic figurines of cats, stalking, isn't my thing. Next.

Hit Three: The Story of Aviculture. This also has a Queensland connection and while I can see that birds out there might be more interesting and worth breeding, I can't help thinking about Birdy, or Bert and his pigeons. Moving on.

Hit Four: RC Submarines. Ah ha! A real hobby. Which would pander to my irrational desire to own a Dremel. Water I like. Boats I like. Little fiddly bits of technology I like. This looks like a possibility. But then I remember how I grew out of those Airfix kits and while I'm getting on a bit, I'm not ready to hang out with these guys.

Hit Five: Chess and Checkers. Er, no thank-you. It's a bit geeky. I know I'm a nerd or a geek, but I'm trying to move away from that.

Hit Six: Trout fishing. In New Zealand. I'm definitely living in the wrong hemisphere. Pass. I tried this before and it's boring. Hey -- that's spin fishing. Hah! Amateurs. I did fly fishing. It's still boring.

Hit Seven: You have got to be joking. This is not a pastime. Let's move on.

Hit Eight: Growing mushrooms. This might be more fun in Romanian, but that picture puts me off.

Hit Nine (gettin' desperate here): Tai Chi. At last! Something I could actually do. I did go to a Tai Chi class once. It was the week before Anna was born and as a result I missed the next few classes. I didn't actually like it much, the instructor was too brown rice for my liking (I'm coming across as very picky aren't I?).

Hit Ten: Pigeon Racing. See Aviculture, above.

A cursory glance at results eleven to twenty reveals computer related stuff, people watching, radio hammery and some other Australian pursuit. So apart from inculcating a desire to emigrate to the Antipodes where all the fascinating pastimes are (I can see the brochure now), not a great success.

Stupid Google.

So it looks like piano lessons. We have a piano and it seems sensible that someone should play it. It's be nice to be able to bash out Fairytale of New York at christmas after dinner, before the port and stilton gets the better of you. The idea of playing Roll Out The Barrel appeals to me too (in an ironic sort of way), but I'm sure that if I go for lessons it'll be sight reading and Liszt or Chopin or somesuch. I should stop being such a misery guts and give it a try. The local music school only charges Eur180 for ten half hour lessons. And if I learn to play Baker St. I know someone I could duet with.

It couldn't hurt.