So here we go again, with one great statistical binge to see in the New Year. The one for 2005 is here, should you want to compare notes. Please heed my usual warning that if you're a normal human being with no great statistical bent, now is the time to move on.

As ever we'll start with the number of posts in 2006. Here's some background:

• 2005: 800 posts
• 2004: 365 posts
• 2003: 68 posts
• 2002: 61 posts

In 2006 we posted 816 articles (including this one), a slender increase on 2005.

2006 was, of course, the year in which we welcomed a fourth contributor to the ranks. Here's how our individual posting totals increased over the year:

It must be confessed that two contributors' lines on the chart appear to be levelling out, but having been bolstered by David's addition, progress continues. This next chart shows our monthly contributions in more detail (each bar is in the colour of the contributor, i.e. green for Ollie, blue for OJ, purple for Amy, yellow for David).

This highlights the fact that we hear from OJ, and increasingly Amy, all too rarely. But we can't harass these busy folk and I'm promised a post from Amy involving the sipping of champagne from the roof of an opera house shortly. The girl knows how to live (she's in India as I write).

In fact from the last few months, it looks as though David is the new Amy! Amy is the new OJ, and OJ is the New Coke (hung around for a while having been produced in the mid-80s, but now defunct).

My 66 posts in January this year is a new record for a single month (the previous being the 51 I managed in July 2005), as is the 127 posts we managed in total that month (beating 96 in July 2005). In both 2005 and 2006 November has been a noticeably quiet month. In fact, let's take a look at our monthly posting records for 05 and 06, plotted against each other:

Our pacey January 2006 start is clear, but then there's a marked dip below 2005 levels of posting. This is probably good news, in as much as my promise this time last year was to deliver 'quality, not quantity'. While we've posted 16 more times this year than last, if you take January out of the equation, it's a far more sober rate of posting. It's up to you to decide if we're getting any better!

I posted 525 times in 2006, not including this post. That's exactly double my total at the start of the year (we do like a good stat like that). Amy contributed 190 posts, OJ exactly 50, and David also exactly 50. So I'm on 1051 in total, Amy's on 650, OJ's on 359 and David's on those same 50 posts.

Leaving the writers behind, let's take a quick look at the readers. We switched to a new stats system for the beginning of April - here's the figures for unique users from April to December:

It's trickier with the new stats package to say which our most popular posts were to a precise degree, but there are three spikes on that graph for which I can account.

The first, in mid-June, is Amy's post on a survey revealing the poshest surnames; the second, in early November, is David's tribute to Paul Walters (the largest number of unique users we've ever had in a day), and the third, in early December, is me talking about dividing by zero (the largest number of page impressions in a day).

Our average since these new records began is 184 unique users per day, but that's been going up recently - for November and December the average is 257. But, for all that fluctuation, it's the static figure for "returning visitors", forever stuck around the 25-to-30 mark, that I want to shift upwards. So my New Year's resolution for Dayorama is to get more of you coming back here, more often. Now I just need to work out how. Thanks for reading!

So, what can you expect in 2007?

For starters, 2007 is an International Polar Year - only the third ever, after years in 1882 and 1932. It means groups from various countries will club together to pool their resources in order to further our understanding of the poles.

And speaking of Poles, the first day of 2007 sees Bulgaria and Romania join the European Union, while Kofi Annan will finally step down as UN Secretary-General, to be replaced by South Korean Ban Ki-moon.

At the end of January, Microsoft will release their new operating system - Windows Vista - for public consumption.

On 11 March the US and Canada switch to Daylight Savings Time, two weeks ahead of the UK, in a change to the previous dates. Meanwhile, on the same day, the World Cup of cricket begins in the West Indies (anyone got a ticket?). Two weeks and a day later, the long overdue smoking ban comes into force in England.

22 April heralds the first round of the 2007 French presidential election . I'm supporting Ségolène Royal, because I like her name. As with the US election, there was very little science involved in my deliberations. The second round takes place on 6 May.

The Eurovision Song Contest takes place in Helsinki on 12 May, after Finnish band Lordi won in style last year. Expect the Icelandic vote to be somewhat distracted - they've got a general election on the same day.

6 June marks the start of another G8 summit, this time in Germany. Will Tony Blair be there? And three weeks later it's the start of the Manchester International Festival - coincidentally, just two days before a calendar blue moon (a second full moon in a calendar month). Maybe it's Manchester City's year...

The first day of July brings us the concert for Diana, which will take place at Wembley Arena, and six days later London is again the centre of attention as the starting point, somewhat illogically, for the Tour de France.

Finally, in September we can look forward to the World Cup of rugby, with matches mostly in France but also occasionally in Wales and Scotland.

Now, the bookies have long since cottoned on to our predilection for a prediction, and at 6/4, Girls Aloud splitting up is a hot favourite for the year ahead - but the Spice Girls could reform, at 12/1.

Prince William to become engaged to Kate Middleton is at 2/1, far more likely than the 10/1 shot that is Osama Bin Laden being captured - itself a dead cert compared to the UK winning Eurovision, at 20/1.

But some people are banking on an altogether less likely proposition: the Second Coming.

"Will the Rapture happen in 2007?", asks a question on Yahoo! Answers. Answers include:

• The Blondie album?
• I hope it doesn't happen too soon, I need a few more years of life.
• Yes, on 26 October.
• No, but it would be nice. What a surprise for Bin Laden.

Meanwhile, Wikipedia has an interesting little section entitled 2007 in fiction.

Finally, one blogger predicts MySpace will become "uncool" in 2007 (it has to happen at some point), to be replaced by fellow social networking site Orkut. So - anyone got an Orkut invite going spare?

Happy New Year all - 2006 Dayorama not-a-zeitgeist-honestly to follow...

Finally, it's the last section of our look back at this year on Dayorama: September to December...

SEPTEMBER

Ollie's in St John's, Newfoundland. "It's a proper Atlantic fishing town ... this is the first thing the entire Atlantic Ocean bumps into."

"Let's get this Boeing going" - the wit of WestJet air crew on Ollie's flight back from Newfoundland.

Steve Irwin dies. "Little Bindi, now Steve's legacy rather than sidekick to a proud dad," says Ollie. "It's a really sad day." For Amy, it's her first day at work. "I'm pleased the first day is over and done with: all the niggling little worries gone."

Ollie's contemplating buying a Dodge Caliber. "I want a chunky car in which I feel safe, and the Caliber definitely delivers."

Ollie gets the chance to wield a BBC Bus on an unsuspecting public at the Newbury Show. Dayorama readers may have been wise, at this point, to start brushing up on their bus knowledge.

Lo and behold, David arrives as Dayorama's fourth contributor - the first addition to the writing staff for two years. "I've been almost literally glued to Dayorama," he says. "Thank you for offering up that warm bosom."

Richard Hammond is seriously injured in a jet-powered car accident. "I wonder if it hit a caravan," says Ollie.

The air ambulance which rescued Richard Hammond is receiving tens of thousands of pounds in donations. "Someone gave the amount they spend on hamster food... God knows what their hamster's going to eat now," says Dayorama reader Amy J.

Dayorama's t-shirt section launches with a Richard "We Want Our Hamster Back" Hammond special.

David returns from the world's largest bus show. "It's always great to get together with people who do what you do, and when the result happens to be a spectacle like 700 buses stretched out across an airfield, you start to feel you may be vaguely normal after all."

David is life at BBC local radio's Frank Gillard Awards. "The chef was perhaps a little too selective with his 'selection of vegetables'," says the food critic himself.

David is back from the awards ceremony, having "managed to survive a chance encounter with Mark Byford at the urinals".

OCTOBER

Dayorama's readers are introduced to Cyril, the asthmatic cat.

OJ's at the Conservative Party conference. It is a fair to say some people are having trouble getting in. "I met people who had been waiting two days ... if ever you were to get a bunch of people who were happy to queue in a nice orderly fashion, and suffer in silence, it would be at a Conservative Party conference in Bournemouth."

David posts a scan of the log book for the Routemaster he co-owns. Under "report defect details here", it reads: "No destination blind at back, horn does not work, dents everywhere, not roadworthy, but who gives a @??#."

Days after Cyril's appearance, Basil - David's new cat - has an introduction of sorts, although we can only see his paws poking out from beneath a bed. "Here, we have either an introverted cat," says David, "or one very switched on kitty, who's realised that after months on the street, home comforts will be forthcoming without the need for personal appearances."

It's announced that Will, a friend of both OJ and Ollie at school, has died aged 22. His profile on social networking site Facebook, however, lives on. "There," says Ollie, "Will is immortalised - his favourite books, his favourite movies, a photo, messages from friends."

Ollie picks up his new car, and within ten miles it's on fire. Or is it? Listen to the full drama here.

Ollie's in Newcastle on a three-day training course, during which he'll be sent out to film somewhere. "I'm told possible locations include a cake shop, a dry cleaners and a factory, none of which exactly inspire me."

Amy's new laptop is dead within eight hours of arriving in her possession. "Why did I get a Toshiba?"

David survives his debut in stand-up comedy. "With the intimate little audience around the stage, it proved to be a reasonable hit." Meanwhile Ollie strikes up conversation with a drunk trout farmer in Newcastle. "Not only is my man flying to Exeter on trout business, he is also - and I hope your reaction to this is the same as mine - flying there to visit his birth mother for the very first time."

A seven-hour wait for a ticket puts Ollie off the Tate Modern's slide exhibit. "It feels like not over-much actual artistic effort went in. The slides are bare, grey structures with no life to them."

Meanwhile, David remembers the life of Radio 2 producer Paul Walters. "A great man who's inspired me enormously over the years."

Ollie cries at an hour-long Royle Family special. "Jim, utterly overcome by grief and trying with all his convulsive might to fight away floods of uncontrollable tears, stands over the bed. Those are some of the most powerful seconds of television I have ever seen, and at that point I started crying too."

NOVEMBER

Ollie spends his birthday reporting on a reserve match between Reading and Arsenal, at the Madejski Stadium. Amy J's there too, acting as "a second pair of hands and legs which can nip down to the concourse, buy hot dogs and chicken balti pies, and rush back".

The saga of David's grow-your-own bus begins.

David loses his cat temporarily, and very nearly coaxes an entirely different cat into his car before discovering the original sat on the kitchen side. "I didn't recognise him in daylight," says David of his somewhat reticent pet.

Amy's back from New York. The highlight? "A few too many gins."

David's grow-your-own bus has grown its own. "The past 72 hours have been a joy," enthuses the owner of a miniscule, moist double-decker.

Meanwhile Amy's getting a cleaner. "I won't be like my mother," she promises. "She always used to clean before the cleaner came."

David, refusing to be separated from buses, embarks on 23 days of study for the Certificate of Professional Competence in National Passenger Transport, no less.

All four Dayorama writers end up in the same place - Amy's flat.

Ollie's commentary at a Maidenhead FA Cup match comes crashing down around him. "My co-commentator tells me it's the worst broadcasting disaster he's had in six years at the station."

Christmas presents are already turning up at the radio station. A delighted David: "Hand delivered, the sender in question had issued such firm instructions to "pass this on to Mr Sheppard", that security guards had assumed I was expecting it. I wasn't!"

DECEMBER

Ollie and David have an encounter with a porter at OJ's new flat. "Our blushes were spared when the porter revealed himself to be just as amused by us as we had been by him."

On the BBC website, Ollie publishes an article about dividing by zero. Mathematicians do not take kindly. "I think it's brilliant that one of our most successful articles in ages has been all about maths. Perhaps we shouldn't despair for civilization just yet."

7 December is revealed as Dayorama's best day since records began, with 569 page impressions and nearly 500 visitors.

Meanwhile David completes his CPC exams - and won't hear back until the beginning of February.

Another extraordinary parcel for David - this one containing >a href="http://www.dayorama.com/archives/002147.html">a manual on cars and trains written by a seven-year-old David Sheppard.

All four Dayorama authors are back together again, this time for a Christmas party aboard David's bus. "The Routemaster has, of course, been preserved and indeed restored to the highest standard," says Ollie, "the addition of a buffet being particularly ingenious and welcome."

With bad weather outside and a show to present at 6am, David sleeps overnight in Studio 1.

Ollie declares the Doctor Who special to be the best part of Christmas. "It's difficult for anything to look out of place when a group of robots dressed as Santa, using brass instruments as weapons, all have their heads blown apart by a particularly vicious sound system at a wedding reception."

That's it! But plenty more to come, of course, in 2007 and beyond.

Continuing our look back on Dayorama in 2006. Today: May to August...

MAY

The hosepipe ban may be driving residents of Kent to the edge. Amy: "I was driving in Kent the other weekend and saw a man washing his wall. Not a special wall, just any old wall. I nearly got out of the car and read him the riot act."

Ollie is on a platform at Bolton station with boxer Amir Khan - it's a press junket to do with rail safety, but the real star is a man named Paul. "Paul lost his arm when he was 12 after being hit by a train. He's lucky to even be alive but when you've seen him detach his fake arm, it brings home the reality of what happens."

Ollie's in Manchester covering the local elections. "I'm sat in what is fast becoming the War Room for the media, a large pillared atrium with a vast plasma television next to a series of white boards on which all the results will be gathered."

It's 3:45am on election night and the BBC suffers a power cut. "Good job I did all my lurking behind the BBC presenter whilst he's on air at Manchester before their power went down..."

Amy is worried when she forgets her mobile but, on returning to it, is disappointed to find just one voicemail message: "From Ricki the car mechanic, telling Kevin that his welding had been done but he couldn't collect his car until he had paid for the work."

Ollie, meanwhile, is trapped at a party for people who like radio jingles. "We had to guess the station from the very first moments of its launch date broadcast, with the station identity bleeped out. If you're born a considerable number of years after Radios 2, 1, Aire and Piccadilly launched, then obviously this is going to be a tricky round to negotiate."

Amy says now is the time to pull out of Iraq. "I'd like to know what our mandate for staying in Iraq is. What are we achieving? I'm not saying I disagree with why we are there... I just don't know why we are, and I doubt I'm alone."

Ollie interviews football manager Bryan Robson (then at West Brom). Things do not go entirely to plan. "I tried to find a hole in the ground to jump into."

Amy goes to her first ever football match. "Footballers' Wives is probably the closest I've got, and somehow I don't think that counts."

Ollie has his interview at the BBC, but falls in love with the building, not the job. "The entrance is round the back, where 'the back' is defined as a driveway extending through an acre or two of lawns, flower beds and trees, punctuated by two football pitches."

Ollie gets the job. "It's great to have the chance to get to grips with a BBC site and see what I can contribute. And of course I'm delighted to be working in the environment I so fell in love with at interview last week." Amy is quick off the mark. "I'm assuming, as the only salaried member amongst us, lunch is on you today?"

Dayorama's Big Brother 7 coverage begins (having ignored the previous six). "I'll fight with every fibre of my being to avoid being sucked in by this," says Ollie.

Capping a relatively good week by anyone's standards, Ollie passes his driving test. Trying to decide why he failed the first time, the intriguing theory of Dorothy is discussed.

It's the Eurovision Song Contest, and Ollie's backing Finnish band Lordi - "ever so slightly different to your average folk entry". They go on to win.

Ollie's promise to avoid Big Brother falls at the first hurdle. "Aside from the fact I'm watching a young man in a silly hat and an orange shirt cry openly over possibly the single most trivial issue in the history of mankind, it's actually been almost worth - wait, no, no it hasn't. It's pap of the most unbelievable variety."

Ollie spends his first day at the BBC imploring the good folk of Berkshire to send in more photos of squirrels. "To paraphrase Bob Geldof, just give us the f#@!ing squirrels!"

OJ's been spending more than a week furiously typing his thesis. "Immediately after rewriting the conclusion at 5pm today, I threw my cricket gear on and rushed to take my place in Lincoln's 2 XI. Today, I took my first ever wicket as a bowler." Progress has clearly been excellent.

JUNE

OJ's cricketing success has had an impact on old sporting rival Ollie. "Last night I was wracked in my sleep by dreams of OJ playing for England. Having to endure him soaring through the air by the boundary, plucking the ball from thin air to dismiss one of the Australian opening pair (my subconscious clearly doesn't rate Sri Lanka highly enough for inclusion), was neither expected nor welcome."

A survey ranks the poshest surnames. Amy is not thrilled. "[According to the report] I 'share a staircase', Wooding lives in 'semi-rural seclusion' and Williams is an 'Upland Hill farmer'. Clearly I am common as muck!"

Amy says she's addicted to OJ. But it's okay - she means orange juice. "I can't get enough of the liquid."

Ollie draws the USA in the newsroom World Cup sweepstakes. "Could be worse. My esteemed colleague Linda drew Angola." Ollie launches DayoRimet, Dayorama's very own World Cup coverage.

Much is being made of the heat the England football team are having to cope with in sunny Germany. "Of course the many fans England took to Germany will be able to vouch for the intense heat and sticky conditions," says Ollie. "It's just a shame none of them were oscillating, or they'd have been more use."

Amy pronounces herself "seriously distressed" by a horrendous World Cup revelation: "There is no Neighbours for the duration of the World Cup."

We do love a good laugh at a headline. Ollie: "BBC News Online headline: 'Search widening for girl in car'. You'd think there's only so many places she could be. Have they tried the boot?"

OJ sits his final Oxford exam to finish his course. "After a week without alcohol, I'm off to get even more drunk!" Meanwhile Amy leaves her exam 20 minutes early - "I had done all I could".

Top of the Pops has been axed. "Travesty!" cries Amy. "A whole generation of children will grow up without it!" Ollie is not convinced. "Sod Top of the Pops. The BBC are now going to be able to drop the ailing behemoth and focus on nimble, fleet-of-foot broadcasts."

Amy's priorities for the rest of the year: "The working world looms ... but so does finding some sexy young man to go out with."

Hitler Cats is discovered. "I don't think I've stopped laughing since this time last night," says Ollie, "much of it Hitler Cat-related."

It's Wimbledon. Amy tries to sound hopeful for Tim Henman's chances, but gives himself away. "We may as well support him with full-force today, as we may never get another chance this tournament!" Henman is duly massacred by Roger Federer.

Big Brother is introducing five new contestants. "Prepare yourself for possibly the most hilarious claim to fame ever," says Ollie. "The first new contestant, John or Jonathan or something like that, once danced on stage with Five Star! He's got my support already. My hero."

JULY

England go out of the World Cup. Ollie: "That's that until Steve McClaren gets a shot at a trophy in a couple of years' time. We tried pretty damn hard, you know." Amy paid tribute to the World Cup itself. "In general we are a thoroughly apathetic family, and suddenly the World Cup spirit had captivated us."

Ollie spends the day playing American Football. "It is a bad idea to spike one's hair up before playing American Football since the helmet destroys it and then the hairspray mixes with the sweat and stings the eyes."

Ollie, preparing to run the Sport Relief mile, launches his fundraising campaign. "Newsnight editor Peter Barron has stopped by in the last week or so and, Pete, you must have some loose change kicking around."

It's the World Cup Final. Rather prophetically, Ollie writes, "Zidane's off" - referring to it being his last international match. He's later red carded for that head-butt-of-sorts.

Nikki is evicted from Big Brother. "Spoilt, ignorant, self-absorbed brat. Why it took this long to get her out of the house is beyond me," says Ollie.

Ollie runs his Sport Relief mile. "I ran half the length of my Sport Relief mile before slowing down, which admittedly is still relatively pathetic but at least I did it. No marathons for me, I suspect."

Ollie's on the BBC's UpFront training course. "Certain people who sold this to me as the best event since the dawn of time may have been a tad misleading."

Amy earns a distinction for her LPC course. "I admit to being rather proud of myself."

As if champagne from her law firm wasn't enough, Amy decides to celebrate her distinction further - by taking up piano lessons again. "I suddenly decided that perhaps I could have a lesson a week for the next six weeks and thus polish my skills somewhat." Meanwhile her name appears on page 65 of The Times, in Court Circular.

Ollie persuades a 15-piece band from New Zealand to play live on air for him at WOMAD. It later transpires they thought they were on Radio 3.

AUGUST

Amy's cat is winning itself precious little acclaim while she house-sits. "The cat keeps bringing in birds and dissecting them in the kitchen, amidst a pile of feathers. Lovely."

Two days ago, Amy said it was hard to keep the house clean while house-sitting for her mother. Unluckily, her mother has read about it. "That does not mean it is messy, I was simply noting the difference," Amy pleads.

OJ says the nature of his job explains his prolonged absence. "I'll try posting more, I really will, but given that the copy I turn out at work is decidedly less interesting and less public than Ollie's, expect few work related anecdotes. Especially involving small furry animals." Amy professes to fall off her chair at the sight of a post from OJ. Ollie observes that OJ has contributed two of the last 200 posts.

Ollie meets a UFO expert. It's a bit of an unsettling experience. "I noticed that his hall mirror had wires attached to it, which I found a somewhat unlikely set-up."

Ollie live-blogs the final night of Big Brother 7. "Did you know that this series of Big Brother started before I started my job? It lasted for six more days than my professional career to date. There's a thought."

Fresh from being berated for not keeping the house tidy, Amy discovers she can use Dayorama to her advantage - by mentioning things she needs. Having aired a desire for Sat Nav, she is presented with a brand new TomTom 710. "Totally unexpected. And lovely. Thank you. However, thanks also to Dayorama."

It's Dayorama's fourth birthday. "On the very first day of Dayorama's existence, I made a post noting that the word Dayorama had no results on Google," says a nostalgic Ollie. "It now has 57,000." Somewhat disconcertingly, that number is now down to 29,800!

Amy goes for an al fresco lunch, British style. "We did remark at this stage how British we were being - what other nationality would sit under a bandstand having a picnic in the rain?"

It's Reading Festival, and Ollie's there. "I did enjoy Guillemots on the Radio 1 stage earlier, and it's a privilege to see good bands like that up close from the press pit."

OJ celebrates the August bank holiday. "Having been at school or university for every other occasion, I finally get to have a statutory day off from work. This is quite the moment; I've been waiting some time for it, and after four weeks of getting back into early mornings and the like, it is great to have an extra lie in."

The madmen are out in force on the final day of Reading Festival. "I pan the camera round very quickly," says Ollie, describing a piece of filming. "It falls to rest with a bright, alert hippie squarely in the middle of the shot, who shouts: 'Think PENIS!'."

Ollie's off to Canada. "If you'll excuse me I have to go to the toilet, then go to Toronto ... I've been trying not to indulge in the macabre but if those happen to be my very last printed words - ignore these - make sure they get published somewhere, they're not bad."

Meanwhile the Today programme is visiting OJ in Devon. "Having a live linkup between Devon, London, and variously Turkey, America, and Toronto, is very cool."

Amy declares herself "no longer a student" as Barclays upgrade her account.

Ollie is thrilled to find black squirrels in Canada. "They're like stealth squirrels! They drop from black helicopters and then frolic stealthily before disappearing into the aether."

Coming up before the end of 2006, our final part, looking back on the last four months of the year.

In which of the following scenarios do you think you could reasonably expect to bump into Noel Edmonds?

a) Training to be a journalist for a year in London;
b) Working for seven months at the BBC near London;
c) Having lunch in a quiet Wiltshire pub on 27 December.

Yep, who should walk into The Dandy Lion in Bradford-on-Avon during lunch with my friend Becky, but the man himself. The Deal Or No Deal king, looking far better in real life than he does on TV.

No photos because I've promised myself I'll never stoop to that level, but he had a very good wintry look going on, hair allowed to acquire a refined grey hue, not the off-gold shimmer you see on the box.

He was accompanied by a lady who looked, in a few snatched glimpses, a) fairly young and b) quite attractive. They each had a turkey sandwich - this I know because while it had taken the pub staff half an hour to conjure up cod and chips twice for us, Noel's turkey arrived less than five minutes after he'd sat down next to us. Clearly that's who you need to be to get quick service at The Dandy Lion, whose staff visibly bickered among themselves and appeared entirely ill at ease with their jobs.

I was initially at a loss as to why Noel Edmonds would crop up in a pub in Bradford-on-Avon in the week between Christmas and New Year, but I've since learned that Deal Or No Deal is filmed in Bristol and he probably lives in the area.

Becky's mum was able to shed further light, when told we'd seen Noel in the pub:

"Oh yeah, Noel goes to the same chiropractor my friend Kate does. She said she went to have her back done, and apparently he has exactly the same stuff done by the very same hands!"

While I wasn't about to reduce myself to descending on the poor man like a crazed stalker, it was a shame I forgot the line I could have used to make a pleasant introduction. I work with Maggie Philbin at the local radio station, the lady who of course worked with Noel on Swap Shop (which has been brought back for a one-off special).

Therein lay some common ground. Alas, the best I could do while in the pub was the time Noel had landed on the playing fields of my school in a helicopter. I can't remember why. I have the nagging sensation that Mr Blobby may have been there.

Also seen, daubed across the front of a van in the car park as we left:

I know full well OJ likes nothing more than a good alpaca - so there's two! I'm told books are available from all - well, some, or perhaps very few - good bookstores.

So, Ollie has begun to spring-clean Dayorama, in the middle of a mildly content winter. Nothing surprises me about that boy. I managed to post on Christmas day, nothing short of a miracle. I suppose it is indicative of the fact that for the first time in months I am having four consecutive days off work. Of course, the blackberry keeps flashing, but at least it can be ignored for a while, just this once. As if people hadn't already found out, I'm off to Mumbai tomorrow. I'll be away until the 1st January, so New Year will be celebrated 5 1/2hrs ahead and in an utterly different culture. It should be pretty interesting. Oh it is also 33'C out there too at the moment. It beats the wonderful slogan on the bbc.co.uk/weather site this morning: "another dull and wet day". Wonderful. I've just packed. Certainly marrows and library books. Or was it umbrellas? Anyway.

We've had a lovely Christmas this year: there was no spam, not trip to the frozen North, and my Father hadn't just come out of hospital (last year). Also, since I am working, I suppose it was the first Christmas I hadn't ever really "wanted" anything. Not that to "want" is particularly pleasant, but there was nothing, or at least nothing I thought, that I would really like. It turns out I do actually hint to the people around me and I tended to receive little "extra" things: pressies that just make life a little pleasanter, or lighter, or easier. Such a fortunate way to be, but also rather humbling in a way. We (mes parents) had a jolly trip to the Royal Albert Hall on the 23rd to their Carols by Candlelight, which is a slightly cheesy, but wonderful event and certainly gets you in the mood for Christmas. I then rushed off to see "A Moon For The Misbegotten" - a fantastic, clever, play with Kevin Spacey - a trip which was part of a colleague and I's attempt to do "at least two cultural things per month...". I've also managed to see close friends and speak to family. Not bad for four days off. Do I ever stop? And now I'm back in London ready for work. I've just finished watching Pirates of the Caribbean, *again*, but it doesn't count when it is actually being shown on TV, does it...

On that note, Happy New Year to one and all. I haven't thought of my resolutions yet...

I present to you a look back at Dayorama in 2006, in three parts. Here, January to April:

JANUARY

Ollie began the year with our 2005 review: 800 posts that year, with the most popular post outlining the lyrics to Kaiser Chiefs' "Oh My God". Amy toasted a year of "interesting and correctly spelt and punctuated posts".

OJ set up a backup version of Dayorama as we'd somehow managed to break the normal one.

Dayorama's back, with a brand new version of Movable Type (the software powering this blog).

Amy started another set of exams, but this time minus the subfusc and carnation which would have accompanied an Oxford examination. "The first exam was quite crap actually".

Ollie's sister Alice starts her 11-plus exam tuition. Tis the season for exams, clearly. Celebrity Big Brother starts. "One of them isn't actually a celebrity, although I defy you to pick the right one," says Ollie.

Charles Kennedy steps down as Lib Dem leader. Amy feels "sorry" for her namesake.

The three Dayorama protagonists meet for a meal in Oxford. "I won the award for most crimson person," says OJ, "Amy was laughed at by the waiter, [and] Ollie came off rather lightly, drastic haircut aside."

The Observer's weblog quotes Amy's praise for its new look as "good enough" for its "modest appetite".

Ollie spends the evening at a demonstration showing wedding rings made from human bone."One half of the volunteer couple has a glass jaw, and is thereby exempt."

The Thames Whale is strutting its stuff in the middle of London. "I can't take much more of this bloody whale," says Ollie, who is engaged in an interesting debate about a man who may, or may not, have lied about his part in a daring rescue.

Amy mourns the Thames Whale. "I was convinced it looked like a dolphin." OJ mourns the end of The West Wing. "So marks a momentous change in my TV watching, last seen with the end of Buffy."

Research suggests this will be the most depressing day of 2006. Amy's day has "not been too bad at all". Ollie's, by contrast, involves theft, a sore throat, and four different deadlines. "It's been a god-awful day."

Thames Whale memorabilia is turning up on eBay. "In the New Labour spirit of burying bad news sufficiently far beneath a large whale, I've booked my driving theory test for 28 March, 2pm," says Ollie.

The whale just won't go away. "It was in the water, right?" Asks Amy. "And it died of dehydration?"

Amy's back from seeing The Producers. "It is a wonderfully funny, laugh-a-minute production. That is, if you think jokes about sex, Hitler and gays are funny. I recommend it."

OJ sets up a group dedicated to the memory of Caecilius, a character in a series of Latin textbooks used by both OJ and Ollie. "Caecilius had the minor misfortune of living in Pompeii around about the time of that rather large eruption," says Ollie, "but in the months running up to it we grew to know and love his whole family. Most of whom were then wiped out."

Amy makes the minor mistake of believing the Planetarium, of Madame Tussaud's fame, holds fish.

FEBRUARY

OJ, with reference to Ollie having conducted interviews under the guise of working for the BBC during his postgrad, discusses a looming BBC staff walkout. "If you pretend to work at the BBC, must you also pretend to strike?"

Ollie takes charge of a team of would-be journalists to create a news website during his postgrad. If only he knew.

Amy is upset that modern phones don't allow suitably dramatic movements. "If you want to slam the phone down (as you would be able to do on an old style phone), you can't. Instead, you have to gently place the phone back and wait for the stupid little beep."

The sink in OJ's room floods a basement below and knocks out a college fuse box. "They quickly identified the problem being the sink. 'Bit of a piss pot, isn't it?' said the plumber."

OJ's birthday party sounds like the place to be. "We had a very good soundtrack, mainly consisting of old school jazz, and modern day Dartmoor folk."

A smoking ban in England is confirmed. "A victory for common sense," says Ollie. "I'm absolutely thrilled."

Amy says she's not going near any bird sanctuaries while the bird flu scare is ongoing - particularly as an earlier experience at one such venue left deep-rooted scars. "I will never work with children or animals and it has put me off bird farms for life."

OJ's attempts to hold an impromptu Olympics using predicted snow in Oxford are thwarted. "In a remarkable turn of events, it was actually quite mild overnight."

The Drivetime slot on Radio 2 is vacated, and OJ predicts either Stuart Maconie, Richard Allinson, or Noel Edmonds will step in.

"Apparently Chris Evans is a hot tip," adds OJ, sounding a little miffed at having not thought of that himself. "Hmm."

MARCH

Ollie accidentally kills a mouse while trying to humanely remove it from the house. "I must have crushed the little blighter to death when I plonked the cup down on him the second time." Meanwhile Chris Evans is confirmed. OJ's reaction? "Hmm."

In cricket Alastair Cook scores a debut century for England, marking the first time somebody younger than Ollie has done so. "This puts my 54 for Taunton School 2nd XI against Queen's College 2nd XI in June 2002 into some perspective."

Surprising news indeed from Ollie: "The man who produced my band's demo CD plays guitar on a psychedelic rock single named 'Cow' for which Channel 4 newsreader Jon Snow provides vocals."

The end of Ollie's time as web editor for his postgrad. "That means creating a news/features website, perhaps a bit like the BBC's "Where I Live" pages ... Today was one long, torrential downpour of work from the moment I got in."

The April edition of The Field magazine fools Amy a few days early. "I was halfway through when I came across an article on treacle mining ... So, I begin discussing this. Much to everyone else's laughter."

Ollie passes his driving theory test. "As OJ put it, I am theoretically a safe driver." The practical test is booked for 21 April.

APRIL

It's April Fools' Day. Amy goes for a slapstick approach. "I was at Holborn tube station. For some unknown reason - and no, I wasn't drunk - I slipped on the metal/concrete stairs, fell on my backside, lurched forward and then proceeded to roll down the remaining stairs (about fifteen of them) in spectacular fashion. I now have several bruises on my legs and a relatively painful right buttock."

OJ admits "very little is happening" in Oxford, so he's gone and bought a copy of that fine Michael Bolton power ballad, "How Can We Be Lovers If We Can't Be Friends?" Says OJ: "But how can we make love if we can't make amends? That's a pretty fundamental question."

A horse named Sir OJ is running in the weekend's Grand National. "I couldn't not bet on him," says the real OJ. "I've backed a fiver on Sir OJ to win at 55-1."

Sir OJ falls at Fence 22. "I won't be buying the drinks then," says OJ. Meanwhile Amy is behind the wheel of a new Renault Clio. "When you pull the visor down a light comes on," says a technology-struck Amy, "just in case it is a bit dark to apply that mascara properly at traffic lights." She insists she's joking.

OJ's final term at Oxford begins. "In the next ten weeks, I will have handed in two extended essays, researched, written and submitted a thesis, and revised and sat an exam. Good."

Ollie fails his driving test. "I'm not bitter. I'm really not. Probably one of the least dangerous fails in the history of driving."

Ollie's band play what looks to be their final gig. "A lovely ending to a band that, let's be honest, didn't set the world on fire but at least put in some good, honest effort and had fun along the way."

Ollie is accused of having "a good netball throw" by a wheelchair basketball player while on work experience in Manchester. "Any man knows that's fighting talk."

Forget netball, OJ's playing lacrosse. "An excellent sport, which combines the speed of football with the skills of hockey, and comes fully recommended by me."

More to come before we reach 2007 in parts two and three!

Why would you want to watch the fourth test between Australia and England? The English are already a wicket down, they've barely scored at all, the players have all gone off for rain, and Sky are already showing a repeat of the only session's play so far.

The Barmy Army have even been robbed of the chance to watch paint dry, the expected Aussie sun having been replaced by traditional British drizzle.

But, flipping a few channels up the Sky box, we find more cricket. New Zealand v Sri Lanka, in a Pro20 (i.e. Twenty20) international. And this match is absolutely cooking with gas! Sri Lanka are currently 59 for 6 with just over half their allotted 20 overs gone - they're really struggling, and they weren't helped by a suicidal run-out a moment ago.

Earlier on I had trouble getting to grips with my new PS2 game, Cricket 07, and posted some pretty poor scores. Well, watching this is like watching two Cricket 07 teams, both controlled by me, flailing around in a desperate bid for quick runs (I'm not the most patient batsman on a PS2, unlike in real life, where I once batted 45 minutes for 0 not out).

Marvan Atapattu has already been removed cheaply having looked entirely out of place in this environment, and that's what always has purists gnashing their teeth. Gone are - OH MY GOD, I've just seen one of the best catches in cricket, 61 for 7 - sorry, gone are some of the old elements like patience and certain forms of cunning. Uprooted are the tactics you'd need for the five day game, even the one day game. It takes a different breed and many fine cricketers are not cut out for quick cricket.

But sod those cricketers. If they can't adapt it's their own fault. Call me a revolutionary, an ignoramus, a fool, but I'd happily dispatch the five-day form of the game back to the pavilion tomorrow if it was a choice between that or Pro20. Imagine a whole internatonal season of smash-and-grab Pro20 matches, each held over just a few hours, entirely accessible for an evening's viewing - either on TV or at the ground itself. It'd be brilliant. You could have a meaningful league table for the first time in cricketing history and everything.

Not that I actually want to kill off test cricket entirely. Look at last year's Ashes for England fans, and this year's for Aussies - you'd have to go some to find a Pro20 game generating quite that atmosphere and tension over such a prolonged period of time, but it's precisely that period of time which helps. When a five-day game goes down to one wicket in the final session, it vindicates playing that game for five days.

But what about England against Bangladesh? Or Sri Lanka? Can you remember the scores? Can you name anyone else we've played over the last couple of years? It's not very easy because those test matches are almost immediately forgettable (especially with all the cricket now on Sky, although if they're putting the money in, all power to them). Test matches are great when it means the world to both teams, but I've seen a few lately on various sports channels where neither side has seemed to really care.

Give them a couple of Pro20 games a month, playing all the other top international sides in a year for the title of World Champions, and see how we go. I think it'd be brilliant. Very few sports feel the need to maintain a version which takes five days and could, at the end of those five days, end in a draw. Most sports tend to take two or three hours to play out. Pro20 makes sense, doesn't it?

Sri Lanka are now 86 for 8 off 91 balls in around an hour (and they're playing Take On Me in the background, you can't help but love it all). England are 36 for 1 off their same 91 balls, three hours into their allotted time following two rain interruptions and an early lunch. Pro20 might just be the home of cricket this century - I hope so.

Fuelled by Christmas over-indulgence and with good festive telly to watch while I work, I've been spending some time poking around Dayorama's various nooks and crannies, doing a little housekeeping before the New Year.

First in line were the banners - the images which rotate at the top of the page. There were previously 50, ranging from a BBC local radio balloon (despised by David, who has an irrational fear of such things... balloons, I mean), through to a duck having a heated discussion with OJ near Christchurch Meadow in Oxford.

Having been last updated in July, I felt it was probably time for a change. So I've done away with all 50 and introduced 18 new ones.

I think some are better than others and hopefully you'll find some new favourites too, if you keep track of such things (and if you do, they're numbered sequentially to include the first 50, so the new ones are 51 through to 68). I'll be adding to them whenever I can, plus you might well find new submissions from our other authors soon.

The old banners are preserved on our server, if you know where to look (it's not tricky to work out!), and I'm sure they'll reappear as part of some glitzy Dayorama tenth anniversary celebration in the dim and distant future.

Still to come as we prepare to welcome the year 2007: a look back at what we've written about this year, and the annual post-we-don't-call-a-zeitgeist, including the usual stock-take to find out who's been posting and when...

Well that was a bloody good end to Christmas. The Doctor Who Christmas special, entitled 'The Runaway Bride', gave me even more reason to avoid getting married any time soon, as if that were somehow a threat.

Donna, the bride in question, ends up mysteriously transported from her wedding day - landing in the Tardis. The Doctor quickly establishes she's central to a plot involving a nasty looking spider woman, her many millions of children, and an ancient energy source.

Superb acting performances all round and even the hallmark of any television show worth its salt - the ability to crowbar a Segway human transporter (well not one, but three) into the episode without it looking out of place. It's difficult for anything to look out of place when a group of robots dressed as Santa, using brass instruments as weapons, all have their heads blown apart by a particularly vicious sound system at a wedding reception.

Top dialogue throughout too, this just one neat little exchange:

Doctor: "How far down does it go?"
Empress: "Down, all the way down... to the centre of the earth!"
Doctor: "Seriously? What for?"
Donna: "Dinosaurs?"
(pause)
Doctor: "What do you mean, 'dinosaurs'?"
Donna: "You know, that film - they had dinosaurs at the centre of the earth. I was only trying to help."
Doctor: "That's not helping."

By the way, wondering what Darth Maul's been doing since that rather close encounter with Obi-Wan Kenobi in The Phantom Menace? It would appear he's had the op and become a hideous spider queen known as the Empress of Racnoss, who causes the good doc a bit of bother. But you can still tell it's good old Darth - no missing that birthmark.

And we leave you with the knowledge, from this episode, that the Doctor's pockets are (of course) "bigger on the inside". I thought he was just pleased to see Amy J...

Every now and again somebody writes something which sums up exactly what I was just thinking. Usually it's me writing on Dayorama, since I tend to be best placed to write about what I was just thinking. But occasionally someone else does it for me.

Today, of all days, Stephen Tomkins has done it with a piece for BBC News Online's Magazine. Except he almost certainly wrote it in advance and is at home cooking up a fine festive lunch. But the sentiment he expresses is one I've just been worrying about. The title of his article: "Is It OK to go online on Christmas Day?"

"What are you doing reading this - haven't you got anything better to do, on this of all days? Do you, as the great poet said, know it's Christmastime at all?

"I hate to leap to conclusions about anyone, but I say, from what I know of you, that you're an unsociable Scrooge, creeping away from the jolly throng singing carols around the tree, to check your e-mails, browse aimlessly, gorge on humbugs and skulk. You're probably not even wearing your paper crown.

"That said, I should not overlook the possibility that you are spending the nativity season alone, without friends or family, through no choice of your own. In which case, I apologise for my insensitivity, and belatedly acknowledge that Christmas must be a miserable time of the year for some people, and I've probably made it worse, and I feel very bad about that. There, now you've spoilt my Christmas too. Thanks.

"Perhaps the reason you're surfing today is simply that it's something to do. We like to think that Christmas should be a day unlike any other, but once you've opened your presents, eaten your dinner and played with your children's toys, what you've got left is pretty much a day like any other, except with better TV."

And I'd only just been wondering if browsing the web on 25 December made me some sort of social outcast, or whether this was now an accepted norm in a world where, let's face it, most Christmas presents and festive greetings were sorted online.

Come to think of it, if you're reading this on Christmas Day, you're an even more desperate case! At least I can half-expect the BBC website to be useful and informative, even today. Dayorama is no such beast, let alone when we're all scoffing our weight in wildfowl in the name of Jesus.

And anyway, that Kennedy girl wrote on here at 8:43 this morning! Which is somehow worse, though I can't quite formulate a good argument for why it's worse. Merry Christmas... again. I'm off to play Cricket 2007. Give us back those bloody Ashes, Ponting, where's your Christmas spirit?

Wishing everyone a very Happy Christmas! I hope all dreams come true, all sprouts remain green and aren't cooked to misery and all cats get their fair share of turkey.

I took my four-year-old half-brother, Harry, out to the cricket pitch (our finest nearby green expanse) with the dog earlier this afternoon.

We spent between twenty minutes and half an hour out there, in overcast but not unpleasant weather. I thought it might have been colder than it was, but then I was wrapped up in a scarf and my much-treasured overcoat. Harry, by contrast, had insisted on being allowed out in a pullover and shorts. Yep - apparently he even goes to school in shorts, throughout the winter, by choice.

The dog we kept occupied with a tennis ball, an object of worship for the dog since a very early age. There is nothing the dog will not do for the love of a good tennis ball. Contrary to popular belief, the most luxurious reward that dog knows is not scraps from the table after a particularly scrumptious roast, but a brand new premium tennis ball, fresh out of a can of Slazenger's best.

He'll humour you with some fetch-and-toss for a few minutes but as soon as he thinks he can get away with it, he'll take the ball well out of reach and start energetically ripping the luminous yellow fluff from the ball's circumference. This gave rise to one of my all-time favourite photographs. It shows Toby (for it is he) moments after one of these indulgences - the tell-tale sign being a small bundle of glowing fluff protruding from his teeth.

Harry had a ball of his own to keep him engaged, one of your typical inflatable-but-fairly-rugged footballs for kids. He initially busied himself trying to kick it as high as he could, but quickly discovered the far more enjoyable and rewarding game of kicking it at my face from close range. Happily his aim is not yet up to scratch.

It certainly wasn't with his very last kick of the afternoon, just as I was putting the dog back on his leash for the short walk home. To get back we have to go down a little walkway between the cricket pitch and the main road, with high walls on either side, behind which are the gardens of various houses. Harry, just as we left, gave the ball a final hoof - over one of these walls into the great unknown.

When we rounded the corner at the end of the walkway onto the main road, it became clear that the high wall tailed off into a rather low wall, decorated with assorted thorny shrubs. I, with dog in one hand, was not about to go clambering through the foliage even though we could see our ball in the dim distance - so, with some encouragement, I was able to dispatch the intrepid Harry to hare across two back gardens, retrieve the ball, and scamper back.

My greatest fear was that an owner of one of said gardens would emerge, somewhat aggrieved (I'm sure it's possible for some people to berate an intruder for getting their ball back, even if that intruder is a four-year-old on Christmas Eve). It didn't happen and I'm glad to say we made it home safely.

Instead what intrigued me was not my fear, but Harry's. As soon as he got back he suggested we go home as quickly as possible... lest the police catch us. Harry professes not to like the police - they are 'scary' - and was sure they were mere moments from arresting the pair of us for breaking and entering (breaking one shrub, entering two gardens).

I'm told this isn't the first time Harry's been desperate to give the pigs the slip. According to my dad the wee firebrand became a literal wee firebrand some weeks ago, when caught short on the way home in the car one night. My dad pulled over and introduced Harry to some bushes in which to perform the necessary. Poor Harry spent his whole penny facing the terror of possible arrest, charge and prosecution (not to mention extensive interviews with the Mirror and the BBC, no doubt).

It must be nice to be four: to not yet have grasped that the world's police forces have other worries, to believe oneself to be the absolute centre of everybody's attention. And why the hell not? At four years old you are under no obligation to accept the sentience of other beings - you're it. And if you go for a crafty wee in a hedge, you quite reasonably expect Thames Valley Police in its entirety to be out prowling the fields with sniffer dogs.

Christmas is exactly the same when you're four. A couple of weeks ago I sat down with Harry and made his Christmas list. Twenty minutes passed and he was still adding to it, while I frantically tried to pare his expectations down to a level Santa might reasonably attain.

But Santa's not coming for me, is he? I know who got my presents. In many cases I know what those presents are without having unwrapped them, and in at least one case I bought the bloody present for someone else to give back to me! My dad and the rest of my family are the same - even Alice and Lucy, my half-sisters aged 11 and 9 respectively, can harbour few remaining hopes for the existence of St Nick.

But Harry believes in every element of the Christmas we try to sell to our jaded adult selves, just as Harry believes the thin blue line are behind the next bonsai. Tomorrow is for him and everyone else his age. Merry Christmas to all who read, and write for, Dayorama.

It occurred to me last week that just one thing stands between me and sports video gaming perfection - a good baseball game. I've got rugby, cricket, football and ice hockey all weighed off, but it's years since I had a baseball game.

The last one I had was Triple Play, back at the turn of the millennium, for the PC. And my word, what a game it was. It was like watching television and I'd play for hours on end, sucked into a world of baseball which I barely understood but felt I could entirely control. The commentators were brilliant, the music was amazing, the graphics photorealistic (or as good as), the gameplay perpetual. For a few months, I lived Triple Play.

So my natural inclination, on realising the absence of a good baseball game, was to find the latest incarnation of Triple Play. It's an EA Sports series of games - and when something's made by EA Sports, there's always a "latest version" to be had. Isn't there? FIFA 07, NHL 07 and Cricket 07 are all in the collection - Madden 07 (NFL) could find its way in too. Let's get Triple Play 07!

But no. Triple Play 07 doesn't exist. Triple Play hasn't, on closer inspection, existed since 2002! In 2003 it became MVP Baseball, still produced by EA Sports but under a different name for reasons I can't immediately pinpoint.

Then, in 2005, the hammer blow. EA Sports... wait for this... EA Sports lost the rights to Major League Baseball!

In the UK that's unheard of. EA's FIFA games are licensed to the hilt by every football association going, every player sculpted to perfection, every sponsor's logo intact. EA's arch footballing rivals Konami, makers of Pro Evolution Soccer (widely held to be the superior product), have to supply their game with made-up names for their teams (Charlton are South East London Reds, Manchester City are Man Blue, Middlesbrough are Teesside). EA has all the cricket rights, all the rugby rights, etc.

But not for baseball. In 2005 another company signed a deal which means first-party games manufacturers (i.e. Sony for Sony consoles, Nintendo for Nintendo consoles, and so on) can use Major League Baseball names, but only one third-party manufacturer can. And it's not EA. So Triple Play, having become MVP Baseball, ceased to exist at all.

Well, that's not entirely true. MVP Baseball lives on in a 2006 version dedicated to college baseball - because, of course, American sport thrives at the college level, with tens of thousands of supporters turning out for the kind of game that might get a couple of hundred people, maximum, at English university level. But I don't care a jot about college baseball and wouldn't know where to start - take my Chicago Cubs away from me and I'm bereft of any passion for the sport. I need my proper baseball fix, and now I'm in a quandary.

While I wait for the deal to lapse (in 2012), heralding EA Sports' triumphant return, I've been spending a little time listening to music. And it's usually about this time of year that I predict some bands to make it big in 2007.

Last year I went for Guillemots - who've since sold well over 100,000 copies of their album "Through The Windowpane". The year before I went for Kaiser Chiefs, which didn't turn out too badly, did it? So my Dayorama track record with this is not too shabby.

This year: Lovers Electric, Fields, and Switches. Okay, I'm taking a few liberties by having three bands where last year I had one. But while Guillemots were barely known this time last year, these three (with the possible exception of Fields) aren't even bubbling under.

Lovers Electric are from Australia - which might hold them back a bit in the UK, we'll see - but look out for a track called 'Start Again' and one called 'Honey'.

Fields are becoming better known already and their signature tune, at the moment, is 'If You Fail, We All Fail'.

Switches were at Reading Festival (I remember taking photos of them although I didn't really pay too much attention to the music at the time), and they're a bit like a new version of the old Blur sound. Which is a good thing, in my opinion. Current top track is 'Message From Yuz' but their whole EP of the same title, including a track named 'No Hero', is good.

Success for all three predicted this coming year! I'll be back on the topic in 12 months to see how I got on.

Take one farm boy - select your farm boy wisely, allowing for boyish good looks, charm, mop of hair and the kind of physique which suggests they look after themselves, without having won any junior bodybuilding awards.

Put them, to nobody's surprise, on a farm. Preferably a farm in the middle of nowhere, relatively isolated, and certainly not anywhere near a big city. Give them some form of family figure to look over them but subtly suggest that there has been family trauma for the farm boy to deal with.

Make the farm boy live in tempestuous times, nothing like as peaceful as they once were. Create a rather large and menacing empire ruled by a dark, twisted leader, one who administers power using equally malevolent underlings with special powers.

To this add the farm boy's future: a resistance movement, hiding out in unlikely locations, waiting patiently for the leader their myths and legends tell them will come (cue: farm boy).

So what do you end up with? Yes, you do indeed end up with Star Wars. But you also end up with Eragon, the new fantasy film of Lord of the Rings aspirations. Universally panned it has been, were we to talk like Yoda for a moment. Reasons are many and varied, but they focus on: poor dialogue, bad acting, lack of a decent plot, and complete inconsistency with the apparently rather good book of same name.

That seems to be the real bugbear for many. As with Harry Potter and any other epic that could be eleven feature films in its own right before you even reach the second in the series, Eragon the film is, I'm told, nothing like Eragon the book. Some people dare to suggest the follow-up film (and there'll be one, alright - we saw the evil dragon at the end and it looked like it had some fire-breathing to do) will be nothing at all like the follow-up book because the plot has been destroyed. That will certainly make things interesting for whoever has to do the screenplay.

The joy of all this is that, having not read the book, I didn't give a monkey's that the film doesn't represent it very well. Some of the acting could have been better, and the dialogue was all quite hammy and unrealistic, but then there is a dragon involved from start to finish. This rather renders cries of "the dialogue was unrealistic" a little superfluous. If you have a dragon in your film, you're entitled to depart reality and it's our own fault for wanting the impossibility that is a realistic film with dragons in it.

My personal success-o-meter for any film is: how long before the film finished did I start pining for it to end? Blessed as I am with the kind of attention span that would render me King Among Goldfish, but only just, I tend to start eyeballing the watch even in the best of films. If it's a bad film, keeping it mercifully short will earn you enough brownie points to restore it to mediocrity. The Eragon credits were rolling before I'd even given thought to the fact the film might end, so for all its faults it kept me ticking contentedly over in the cheap seats (alright, luxury seats) throughout.

The dragon in it is very good, by the way - voiced very well and, as we have come to expect these days, it looks suitably as though it actually exists. However I did feel the evil forces of the empire demonstrated an incapability bordering on the farcical in their inability to find this dragon. Bear in mind that there are henchmen everywhere out to find the boy with the dragon, the only dragon in existence apart from the king's. Now, this dragon is big. And it's flying around a lot. You know it's not the king's dragon, and you know there are no other dragons. Somehow boy and dragon make good their escape and the henchmen end up a good few days behind! It had been circling in the bloody sky for days!

Sum total: not a classic by any means, but not the 100 minutes of torture many people proclaim - unless you've read the book, in which case it may well be the cinematic equivalent of having your soul eaten by badgers. And yes, it's the plot of Star Wars, but with dragons.

Tell you what, this fog's a bit scary. We've heard all about the flight cancellations and the predicted Christmas traffic chaos, but can anyone tell me where the hell it's coming from?

I'll freely admit to being totally ignorant in this respect, but I don't understand where you get a fog that merrily descends on the whole of southern England for days at a time - and it was a pea-souper here in Minehead at the same time Heathrow was closed.

I've got to drive back up the M5 and M4 tomorrow and am having nightmare visions of crawling along at 25 miles per hour for six hours to get back.

By the way, I learnt of an ingenious trick earlier today. A friend of mine couldn't decide what to get another friend for Christmas, so - instead - they're going to give them a meal out. This will take the form of an IOU written inside their Christmas card ("this card entitles the bearer to one meal out paid for by the sender", etc). That's a bloody clever way of admitting you've not been able to think of anything remotely appropriate to get them! I'll be adopting that one, so ready yourselves for a few meals on me in early 2008.

Oh, and we got another mention on Bloggers' Blog. Trust Amy to post once in a blue moon and still get featured on it. I swear they have their favourites - and speaking of posting, I'll be totting up our annual figures shortly and publishing the resulting graph. I hope Messrs Wooding and Kennedy are quaking in their boots ahead of that little performance review...

One wonders, now that the 37-year-old arrested in connection with the Suffolk murders has been released (albeit on police bail), whether the decisions of various media outlets - the BBC and the Mirror included - to publish interviews with him was overly wise.

I couldn't believe it when I first heard the interview being broadcast. All the legal training I've been given would point to this being at best a bit reckless and, at worst, likely to cause serious prejudice to any possible trial. But nobody at the BBC is going to have aired it without the legal team going through every second of it first. As a legal example it goes to show the changing, shades-of-grey nature of broadcast law, rather than suggesting anything's gone horribly wrong.

Yet I'm still surprised it ended up on air. The gentleman concerned apparently had the word of the BBC that it would be used for background purposes and would not be aired. Just because the man ends up being arrested, it doesn't immediately invalidate any responsibility to keep promises made to him. It's a major journalistic scoop to have that interview, but it's a little morally vacant to go back on your word in the process.

If it were me, I'd have kept the interview back and only used it at the end of any future trial. That five or ten minutes would have made an immensely powerful backbone for a retrospective documentary had the gentleman been convicted. As it is, expending such emotionally charged ammunition at a legally risky moment, before the subject has been charged with any crime, feels to me like jumping the gun.

I've read Adrian Van-Klaveren's justification and can see what he's getting at (he's one of the people in charge of these big decisions - not a job I currently envy), but keeping the interview back until it could have been used in the cold light of day wouldn't have diminished the journalistic skill involved in getting it. More to the point, if the gentleman turns out to be entirely innocent, BBC News could have talked to him about using parts of it - or quietly shelved it as the background information it originally was.

You find me in the early hours of Thursday, preparing for bed.

This bed:

Every Christmas, radio stations up and down the land prepare a treat for their staff, in the form of a compilation of all the outtakes from the past year. At ours, the task of putting this together falls by default to me, as the man who not only makes many of the blunders, but also delights in hearing and saving other people's.

An hour ago, I was deeply engrossed in editing this little project (tradition has it that it's made under cover of darkness), when my 'phone rang. It was our Head of Programmes, calling to say that our Early Show presenter was feeling a little under the weather, and that I'd therefore be needed to present tomorrow's Early Show... in 6 hours time.

Dashing to my car to return home and claw back a few 'Z's, I was confronted by the most bitter, freezing fog imaginable, and a blanket of ice on my windscreen which screamed "just you try, matey".

I did try, but not for long. I figured it would take at least 20 minutes to clear, and in any case, I'd be repeating the process in 5 hours time and fighting my way into work again. It just wasn't worth the effort of going home, not to mention the potential danger, I decided. Instead, I called at the BBC reception to ask for a room in our on-site lodge, which caters very well for unexpected overnight stops such as this. Too well, it seems, since I was told that every room was taken by people similarly caught out.

So, I'm preparing to bed down on the desk of BBC Radio Berkshire's Studio 1A, from where in under 5 hours time, I'll be preparing to warn the Royal County's good people of the dangers awaiting them on their drive to work. Luckily for me, I won't have to endure one at all.

Did you know, only 42% of London's Underground network is actually, erm..., under the ground? Surprising then, that we're always a little bit intrigued by the sight of an Underground train out in the open. Long, thin and short, they always look so small and vulnerable when pitched against their mainline cousins.

But, however exposed you may feel as you ride that wonderful stretch of the Metropolitan Line through Neasden, there are no tube trains more vulnerable than these two:

Perched high above proceedings in Shoreditch, East London, three old 1983 Jubilee Line carriages are keeping an eye on the ubiquitous groundwork for the East London Line extension (which, by the way, is looking well in hand; how fantastic to see such investment in our railways once again). You might well ask what else they're doing there, and more to the point, how somebody managed to put them there. Both jolly good questions, and ones which always fall from the lips of intrigued passers by.

I was led to them yesterday on something of a mystery tour by my good friend Matthew, who's done more than a little research into the matter. On the face of it, it seems it's all to do with trying to 'recycle' surplus carriages rather than simply scrap them (Booths of Rotherham, who usually carry out the 'recycling' rather more literally, might raise an eyebrow at the use of the word).

In reality, I can't help but feel it was just somebody wanting to do something a bit silly and impulsive - and good on them for doing it. These trains will see a new lease of life as art studios, and will bring countless hours of pleasure in their retirement. We certainly enjoyed seeing them yesterday.

Speaking of doing silly and impulsive things, that's how our little mystery tour came about. Matthew's recently joined one of London's new "pay as you drive" car schemes, which allows you to rent cars by the hour, more or less like deckchairs or rowing boats. The novelty is that you're never far from one of the company's cars, which will be lurking in a nearby side street or car park, and it can be booked within seconds.

And because something can be done, we decided over lunch that it should. Between main course and dessert, we'd booked (via WAP) the nearest car, and received an email with the registration number, colour, location, and name of the vehicle (yes, each car has a name. We had Donald.)

Ollie asked a few weeks ago what somebody would have to invent to truly stun you. For me, this is the latest thing; a mechanism by which you can walk into a car park in Baker Street, touch your card on the windscreen of a previously unseen car, and seconds later be driving off down the Marylebone Road. Of course, in some parts of town, a more primitive version of the 'choose a car and drive off' scheme has been thriving for years; but in this instance, the car's paid for.

We toyed with the idea of taking Donald on yet more train related missions, but sadly, time was against us. Lucky, then, that our third mission of the day was a party at the house of some radio folk in Elephant & Castle. It didn't take long for us to smell another railway connection, quite literally, when the bathroom window was opened to reveal an overhead view of the Bakerloo Line's tube depot. In true London Underground style, only 42% of the ensuing house party was spent downstairs with the guests; for the rest, we were watching trains from the roof garden.

It's been a good weekend for former members of the London College of Communication's broadcast journalism postgrad.

On Friday night we had a rather large London Irish story break - exclusive to us, thanks to the hard work of our reporter Graham, who knows the club inside out. They were extremely angry about what they allege to be the racist abuse of one of their players by someone playing for their opponents, Ulster. After the match, the club told Graham they were going to file a formal complaint about it.

Nobody else picked up on this story, so we had an exclusive. When I rang BBC Sport Interactive at 10:30pm I was told their rugby union desk had all gone home (!), but that didn't stop us having the story on BBC Sport's homepage by 11pm - with quotes attributed to our station. Here's the BBC sport version.

It's always a nice touch when your station name stays attached to a story (all too rare), and it's been brilliant to see us getting credit for it in the many news outlets which have since repeated it. And it's all down to Graham, who spends enough time and effort following the club that he deserves the occasional exclusive - this one, he handled superbly.

My friend and former LCC colleague Andy's also been doing well. He bounded onto our internal version of MSN Messenger this afternoon like an eager puppy, having broken this story:

Some of the most exotic species at the National Sea Life Centre in Birmingham could die if electricity is not restored after a black out.

The power cut has left temperatures in the tanks at the centre at critical levels, said manager Ian Crabbe. Supplies were cut to 8,500 businesses and homes in the city centre at 0330 GMT due to a fire in a sub station.

Only eight properties - including the Sea Life Centre - were still not reconnected by Saturday evening. "There is a grave risk of animals dying," said Mr Crabbe.

[source: BBC News - 'Power cut threatens lives of fish']

I'm not sure how Andy got this story (whether the centre rang the BBC or he went, ahem, 'fishing' for it) but it's a very good angle on an otherwise mundane power cut. Earlier it had seemed like the fish would be fine but, reading that latest version, all is clearly not well. I'll confess to actually being rather worried! It's really sad to think of those animals dying simply because they're in one of just eight properties left without power.

Finally I had a lovely time at Slough's junior athletics club earlier today. They've just been named Junior Athletics Club of the Year by UK Athletics - that means they're the best in the whole of Great Britain, and it also means a cheque for £3,000. I went down to cover their afternoon of competitions and awards in celebration of their newfound status as the UK's premier junior club, and the atmosphere was understandably buoyant. There was so much cheering going on that my microphone could barely cope with the noise level.

When the ceremonial bit of the afternoon started, I spent a fair bit of time stood alongside the gentleman who runs the club as he made various announcements. He then, unexpectedly, decided to introduce me to the hundreds of children and parents watching. They'd clearly been in the mood for cheering all afternoon, so even I was treated to a really loud cheer. I don't think I've ever been quite so speechless before - for some reason I was dead embarrassed! Very kind of them though and I had great fun (plus I got to use the "Chariots of Fire" music in the package I've edited together about it, which is never a bad thing).

By the way, if you always watch the Olympics in awe of our top athletes as I do, don't be fooled - they're mere mortals. Nicola Sanders, Great Britain hurdler, came to the Slough event too - and then spent half an hour searching frantically for her car keys at the end. They eventually turned up in a toilet (or in the toilet building, at least), but I'm told she has a reputation for losing the simplest of things. Looking at the cricket, she must be an English athlete.

Knowing that Ollie's day has gone along similar lines to my own (three jobs, one person, etc.), I'm sorry to see that he's also been having to fend off what appear to be the rather misguided "bickerings" of a fellow journalist.

I'm pleased to say, in true BBC fashion, Ben Goldacre's hostility has been balanced with some altogether more "pleasant, positive" exchanges with people in his industry today, as this MSN conversation (from moments before Ollie's 1430 sport bulletin) will prove...

I think you'll agree, the fact that I didn't even flinch when he complained I'd brought only a glass, and not an entire bottle, is indicative of a very "pleasant, positive" colleague. A lesser, more prickly man might have tipped it all over his spikey little head, the lazy little...

Wait 'til next time, Williams.

I've just exchanged a series of emails with the aforementioned Ben Goldacre of the Guardian and his Bad Science blog, and the thing that most strikes me is he's so bloomin' prickly! We've discussed the article and he makes the points I'd expect him to - I've no problem with that at all and I think he'll publish some of it on his blog. I'm all for discussing the maths with him and the stuff we've both written.

But I've also endured a dig at my age and a dig at comments on this website (an unfair one I might add), which just seems a bit unnecessary and irrelevant. He seemed to be out to have a go at me from the start. It makes me glad I don't have to endure this kind of bickering day in, day out, in what is - for the most part - a job full of very pleasant, positive people. I'm sure Ben's like that normally but this afternoon he seemed determined to get under my skin.

"I don't really get blogs," says a colleague sat next to me. "I don't get why you assume people want to read what you write." And here are Ben and I sat writing agitated emails. It's probably a nice day outside... I need that attitude! Consider all maths-related blogging here closed.

Remember I told you about all those sleepless nights I spent over the Summer, worrying that the Waterloo & City line might come back to us that little bit too perfect? Well I needn't have worried.

Not only has the overall character been largely preserved in the trains and station furniture I mentioned, but one long-running W&C tradition is proving itself to be very much alive and well... the fact that the line itself rarely is.

For years, potential 'Drain' users would hold their breath as any traffic report neared its conclusion, awaiting news on the roulette-like odds as to whether the line would be running or not. In theory, part of the aim of the Summer refurbishment was to confine that feeling to history. But judging by the comments of those same users, it would appear not...

Aside from the more regular teething problems experienced, have a look at what faced angry commuters only last week.

In what can only be described as pure PR suicide, Transport for London seems almost to be playing up to the tradition by releasing such an outrageously honest explanation. The perfect parody of the old "leaves on the line" cliché, even the great Reggie Perrin (him again) didn't endure "dust on the platforms at Waterloo" as part of his infamously disastrous commutes. What a comedy memo to the head of Metronet he would have found himself dictating to Joan that morning - if seemingly a little far fetched.

A memo which, perhaps, would be best abbreviated to form this most pithy assessment of the underlying Waterloo & City line dilemma. It's a slice of emotion so raw it could only have come from a commuter who knows the drill and, frankly, is asking himself the exact same question the boss of Metronet must surely be demanding of his staff right now.

So, it looks like I can sleep sound. Odds are, the 'Drain' will be sleeping too.

We should probably lay our t-shirt design to rest - it looks like the Hamster is now well and truly back:

My thanks to Amy J (who else?) for pointing out this article, which announces Richard Hammond's return to action.

Richard Hammond celebrated his first day of filming for the new series of Top Gear by attending the TG Cars of the Year Awards last Thursday.

On his first night out since his jet car accident in September, Richard was accompanied by co-presenters James May and Jeremy Clarkson, who confirmed that the first episode of the new series is due to air on January 28 at 8pm on BBC2.

Lego's Andy Woodman presented Richard with a scale model of the infamous Vampire jet car and a Lego version of the Top Gear studio set, complete with presenters and, of course, a tiny Stig. This followed Richard's recent announcement that playing with Lego blocks had aided his swift recovery.

[source: Top Gear - 'Hamster attends TG awards']

Here's the Lego studio:

Not sure they've done as well as they could with the chair and sofa in the background, but it'll do.

In other news we'll pop back to the maths story briefly for some stats. Today I discovered that, in its first full day online, the article's two videos were viewed approximately 51,000 times. To give you some idea of scale, the third-placed piece of audio or video in our list - behind the two maths videos - was accessed 31 times. Our servers shifted over 100 gigabytes of maths video to the world that day.

I'm also pleased to see that the comments to my follow-up, while still largely disagreeing with Dr Anderson, have been of an altogether far higher class of literacy and numeracy. Clearly the folk with enough interest in the issue to come back for the follow-up are the ones with something to contribute - and if that contribution is to disagree strongly then that's fine by me (I'm conscious of the opinion, in certain places, that we've somehow already made our minds up that Dr Anderson is 100 per cent correct). Given our local university's refusal to put anybody up to challenge Dr Anderson, it's vital that people have written in.

It's disappointing how hypocritical some people can be when taking time out of their busy schedules to criticise others. I came across the blog of a Guardian science writer (Ben Goldacre) earlier in the week, a man who took it upon himself to write the following:

What is odd is a reporter, editor, producer, newsroom, team, cameraman, soundman, TV channel, web editor, web copy writer, and so on, all thinking it’s a good idea to cover a brilliant new scientific breakthrough whilst clearly knowing nothing about the context. Maths isn’t that hard, you could even make a call to a mathematician about it.

Now if you're going to accuse somebody of being inaccurate and knowing nothing about a subject, it helps to get any references to that person or organisation right. Of our Guardian science writer's list of people who could have stopped this apparently heinous crime against science (for which read: local "and finally" story) being published, very few actually exist:

• There was no cameraman or soundman - our reporter is a video journalist, he does all of that himself.
• I wrote the copy for the web but there was no "web editor" involved (how many people does he think work for us? I'm running the site entirely on my own this week!)
• Of the list of editor, producer, newsroom, team and TV channel, I can grant that an editor and producer are involved in getting the report onto TV (but importantly, not involved in getting it onto the web). But what's this "newsroom" and "team"? How is a "team" different from a "newsroom"? What is the TV channel supposed to do about it? The TV channel is the end product - it's a thing, not a person! BBC1 can't just stop transmitting if it realises it's broadcasting a maths report it doesn't fully agree with, it's a bloody television set!

The point here is that it's all well and good picking us up for not knowing our mathematics inside out - but, if you're a science writer writing about journalists getting things wrong (in your view), you can't get lots of things about the journalism in question wrong. It devalues your entire argument. You could even make a call to a journalist about it.

Ok, so now I've started so I'll finish. I've promised to post for ages,
but never quite got round to it. So I thought if I started writing it on
the DLR at around 6.38am in the dark on a Monday morning the quality of the post
could only improve. Where to begin? Well. I've worked. Lots. I'm competing
with friends who are investment bankers as to who has pulled the most all-nighters
in a week, and I even missed OJ and Anthony's party. However, in
some sadistic way I'm enjoying it, hence why I'm on my way in now.

I've finally decided it is Christmas, despite opening the first eight of
the windows in my advent calendar on Friday, because I had totally
forgotten the meaning of December. I've also written my Xmas cards now -
forgive the awful handwriting, just be grateful that you have one at all.
Anyway, why is I Xmas? Because I was on the phone to a friend
last night and suddenly I squealed - the coca-cola advert came on TV:
that's it, there's no turning back, it is mince pies and turkey from here
on in.

We had our work party on Sat eve, which was lots of fun-got home at 8am
after a night on the town, so that's not bas going. And then David’s
thoroughly unique and enjoyable evening on Sat - a very enjoyable
weekend all told. My dad and I also went shopping for our tree on Sun, which was
lovely: never too old for Christmas!

And now I am leaving work. Currently waiting for Cab so finishing off the
post. But I lie, it is actually now Tuesday evening and I am getting around to post. Not sure I have anything to add. Oh, I have some amusing photos of Saturday that I shall aim to upload.

It's been truly a voyage of discovery watching the internet take the story of Dr Anderson and his theory, then rip it mercilessly apart, occasionally punctuated by isolated voices threatening to support his work. I can only imagine how the man himself must feel.

I was extremely impressed with the individual who, confronted with the original article on dividing by zero, declared: 'That's Numberwang!'

I was also pleased to discover a podcast entitled The Weekly Geek, which featured the article right at the end.

But my award for the finest response from the internet goes to a gentleman named Bill, from a website entitled TheScrabbled. You may remember that in my initial nullity-related post, I included an image of Dr Anderson's proof, drawn on the back of an envelope:

Bill took that image, disappeared briefly into his image editing software, and re-emerged with the following effort - adding: "This makes just about the same amount of sense to me."

I never expected to have somebody doctor my handwriting so that it represented ninja kittens, and I'm really quite pleased with the end result.

You can now hear a 20-minute discussion between myself and Dr Anderson where I try to put some of the more clearly expressed arguments to him, here. I'm not expecting you to have listened to it the next time we meet. That would be really awkward. "So, didcha like the bit where I asked about binary?" "Look, Ollie... I'll be honest... I sort of didn't click the link."

By the way, if you want to keep track of what I'm writing just in case I do come up with something you're interested in, you might want to bookmark this link. Google News have now added us to their list of sources, so each article we write will appear, in date order, on that page. It includes articles written by colleagues at News Online and in our newsroom so the stuff won't all be mine, but at least a third of it will have come from yours truly - ninja cats to be supplied at a later date from our US office.

Welcome to one of the most famous locations in British television.

It's a place to which, even if we haven't seen it on our screens (and few haven't), we all refer with alarming regularity in our everyday lives. It's become the universal measurement for rudeness and absurdity, a place we'd all love to frequent for the novelty, and somewhere we hold in our hearts as an important part of not just British sit-com, but British culture too.

I'd forgive you for not recognising it from the photograph I took this afternoon. But let's revisit the exact same spot thirty-one years ago...

Fawlty Towers, the infamous Torquay hotel from the BBC series of the same name, was real enough. We all know the tale about John Cleese and the Monty Python gang checking into Hotel Gleneagles (which even gets a mention in one episode), and the inspiration he drew for the character of Basil Fawlty.

But this wasn't the building featured in the series. The iconic white and black mansion, perched high on an embankment with its arched porch way, and steps so perfectly placed for comedy, was actually a country club in Wooburn Green, Buckinghamshire. Wooburn Grange, latterly a nightclub and restaurant, was gutted by fire one night in 1991, and was promptly but quietly wiped from the face of the earth by developers.

When I first visited the site a couple of years ago, I was welcomed by a Wooburn resident with words to the effect of "I know what you're looking for". She pointed out roughly where the building had been, and told me stories of the great fire which had apparently been something of a spectacle. I'm always a little suspicious when listed buildings catch fire (twice, in this case), only to be replaced by developments which may as well be goldmines. It's certainly sad that no attempt has been made by the developers to mark the history of the site; there's no plaque, and no real homage to the Grange in the style of the buildings which have followed it. If the flame hath no sentiment, then they've been little better in any respect.

Sadly, it's a common story. Earlier this year, plans were unveiled which threaten to scupper our future chances of visiting Arkwright's shop from Open All Hours (although the sign is safe and well, and what I wouldn't give for it). Another historic site, potentially gone from all but our screens forever. If you ever find yourself playing bingo at Mecca in Wood Green, or visiting a flat on the new-ish estate at Lime Grove in West London, or shopping at Tescos in Borehamwood, take it from me that you're treading on yet more hallowed ground from the history of British comedy. I'll let you work out which ones.

Living quite close to the Fawlty Towers site, I pop back for a look every now and again, hoping somehow the Grange will be back there waiting to give me the visit I so often fantasise about. I'd love nothing more than to run down those steps shouting "snobs!" at the top of my voice, or to emerge from the archway with an upturned gnome on my way to see Mr O'Reilly. It's probably just as well it didn't happen today; the precise spot is now in the middle of somone's sitting room.

I'm pleased to say, though, that other locations in the series are very much still there to be visited...

... even when the Austin 1100 isn't.

Mr Sheppard has been remiss in his failure to supply photos of our wonderful Christmas bash aboard the pride and joy of the Broadcasters' Bus Consortium. However we may be able to let him off, given he spent his evening as the bastard offspring of Santa Claus and BOAC air hostess, ferrying presents and wine to the top deck.

So here we go, starting with our mode of vehicular conveyance, Santa stood proudly at the back:

The Routemaster has, of course, been preserved and indeed restored to the highest standard - the addition of a buffet being particularly ingenious and welcome. As we drove down Oxford Street, tinsel adorning the windows, nibbles and drinks being handed back and forth, we passed other buses currently in service. Aboard their top deck sat bored commuters, flicking through battered copies of the Metro or listening to their iPods. What they must have thought when they looked across to see the party going on...

But my attention was drawn to the finer finishing touches to the decor on board. For example:

It appears we had to allow Santa safe passage this once. But then, with views like this to take in, it would have been unseemly not to comply with the conditions of travel...

A brilliant night, including an unlikely loo stop on a ship, a chance encounter with my old voice coach Fenella (heard reading the news the following day, clearly recovered well), and much merriment with a motley collection of good friends. Not least among them Amy J, the star of this video tour of the bus, filmed while it had parked itself up outside Embankment. Many thanks to all!

It's now at least one year and one day since you last ran to catch a bus at the traffic lights. The same time, too, since you last had the comfort of a friendly conductor coming to your seat to collect your fare. One year and one day since London saw this incredible outpouring of grief, as its last Routemaster bus ran in service...

Yesterday saw a commemoration of that fact with a run of preserved Routemasters, including ours, over part of Route 159. It was a journey we'd all made on December 9th 2005, bus fans and Londoners alike, to catch a glimpse of the final Routemaster on its historic journey, and it was great to see that one year on, London was still missing its faithful servant of 51 years.

There'll be some stiff necks in London this weekend, I can tell you. Heads turned, and faces lit up, as the Londoners' friend passed by, not in the pairs for which buses are so famous, but in dozens. If you've ever bumped into a long lost mate in a supermarket, and subsequently had to acknowledge them in every single aisle, you'll know how it felt - except they genuinely were pleased to see each and every one. Ours was among the last of the Routemasters to leave the start of the run at Regents Park, and yet still the delighted crowds reached for their camera 'phones as we made our way south towards Brixton.

London hasn't forgotten. Granted, the Routemaster is now regarded as more of a spectacle than when it was commonplace, but that's just human nature; you don't know what you've got 'til its gone, and all that. On our return journey, we passed one of the modern, one-man-operated buses which replaced the Routemaster on the 159, its panic alarm blaring to attract police as the driver struggled with a violent passenger. You can bet your life he's missing the Routemaster, and the support of its conductor.

In the evening, we invited our mates 'n' mukkers aboard and treated them to what Dayorama regular Amy J has described as "possibly... the most bizarre night of (her) life". I'll let the other authors elaborate (and I'll provide some pictures soon), but sufficient is it to say that Father Christmas and his ticket machine thoroughly enjoyed proceedings, as I hope did everybody who came along.

A final thought as to how London feels about the loss of its Routemaster friend one year on. At one point during the evening, we found ourselves pulling into the busiest Oxford Street scene I've witnessed since the one pictured above. This time, the crowds were eager shoppers about their business, and as we pulled forward from a side street, RML 2394's backside became well and truly wedged in the current of hundreds of pedestrians crossing the road. I watched from the platform and smiled as, one by one, they gripped the conductor's handrail as they passed, subconsciously bonding with their surroundings in a way they've not been able to do for twelve whole months.

The friendly curves of the Routemaster win every time. I mean, when was the last time you had your pole stroked by quite so many Londoners on a Saturday night?...

Last week I mentioned an extraordinary parcel which had arrived at the BBC.

Here's another one:

Thoughtful but strange, you might think, for a listener to be sending me a manual on "Cars & Trains", apparently illustrated in powder paint by a young child. I was inclined to agree at first sight. Except that the young child turns out to have been me, 18 years ago...

It could only be me when you look closely. Who else, at the age of 7, would have misspelt basic words like 'were' ('wour') and 'because' ('becose'), yet quoted the correct unit number for a Class 485 electric train arriving at Sandown? And who else would have annotated their drawing of a lorry with a disclaimer, warning that "this type of Leyland badge only apears on lorrys. on buses a different badge is desplayd"? Guilty as charged.

Less of a disclaimer, more of a boast, is the rather blatant admission of plagiarism...

(Note that 'how' is spelt 'Howe', as in the name of the railway locomotive. I wish I could lay claim to being pun savvy in those days, but sadly the error is repeated throughout...)

Other gems include tips on driving safety ("To drive saferly your brakes must be working"), and a lament for Richard Trevethick's steam car, which sadly didn't take off as a concept "becose it frightend hourses".

Oh, and a diagram which fully exploits the phallic connotations of Stevenson's 'Rocket'...

Parts of this little booklet I can remember working on. I remember the frustration of the paint colours running into one another on the cover, and Miss Rattray (yes, a real name) having to glue paper over the top to enable a second attempt. I can also remember the book we used in the great 'gathering up' of information, as I delicately put it. What I can't remember is who ended up keeping it - which rather precludes any hope of understanding how, ultimately, it came to be me!

In the now time honoured tradition, the parcel's sender hasn't signed a name, but has left a charmingly understated note branding it as "something to amuse". My old friend Joe Northcote is my hot favourite, but it's not his writing (compare it to that in the book if you don't believe me). Perhaps Miss Rattray herself, but then why would she have kept it for 18 years? As with the mystery of Ollie's portrait, we may never know...

But what a privilege to have the job I do. A job that allows me to return to work after a week off, to find more weekly chocolate parcels, more CDs (others have copied the idea since I mentioned it on the show last week), and a little lump of my childhood, all stuffed into my pigeon hole.

So, next week…

Alongside Ollie's own number crunching, Dr Anderson's not the only one who's been doing the maths.

Today was the long awaited culmination of my CPC training and, you'll be pleased to know, this is the last you'll be hearing about it for a little while - probably until February 1st, when the results come back to bite.

And bite they may, since today's exam was played on an entirely new field for me. One of only two candidates (out of 25 or so) who'd opted to study the course at home, I was also among the handful who were under 35, and almost certainly the only one who wasn't studying as part of their day job. Conspicuous? Moi?

The exam was held in a building which, for all the world, looked just like Sunshine Desserts from The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin. I almost expected red and green telephones to start setting each other off, or for CJ to burst in with the line "I didn't get where I am today by failing my CPC...". (It wasn't the actual building it turns out, but it certainly got me looking for it the moment I got home.)

Rather like Reggie's place of work, the exam was filled with all the comedy characters that used to make a school exam such a colourful place to be: the loud and cocky boy, with a punchline for everything (usually one we were already thinking); the girl with the wax crayons who pretends to have done no revision at all, but secretly knows the syllabus inside out; oh yes, and the chap who follows me to just about every exam I've ever sat. The one with the cough.

I have to be honest and say it could easily have gone either way. To undertake such a huge syllabus in a few short weeks is a bit of a task, and today's papers came as something of a challenge. If I've passed, it'll mean we can forge ahead with our plans to become a licenced bus company. If I've failed, it'll mean a lengthy wait for a retest.

My pride in the event of failure, however, will be safeguarded by a conversation I overheard between an invigilator and a fellow home-study candidate, who'd enquired about the pass-rate. Apparently "less than 40% of home study candidates pass first time around, and those are usually the ones who've been in the industry a long time".

Sod's law says it's probably the one CPC minority group I won't be joining...

I should get out more, really. I've spent the last hour or so watching the Dayorama stats twitch erratically towards a new record for hits in one day.

The previous best was 567 on 3 November this year but earlier today, with Buzzfeed sending hundreds of people to Dayorama, it became clear that 7 December 2006 would be a challenger.

I've been keeping tabs throughout the rest of the day. And would you believe it - it took until 23:57:47 for the 568th hit, from an Australian making his second visit of the day, to break the record. The day closed on the new all-time high of 569 hits.

My divide-by-zero efforts may hold the record for hits, but David's tribute to Paul Walters retains the unique users accolade by a single individual. 485 different people visited Dayorama on 3 November, 484 on 7 December. It's amazing how incredibly close the two days have been, given they're a good couple of hundred users higher than any normal day. Onward and upward - full Dayorama zeitgeist to follow later this month.

(For the uninitiated, "hits" means the number of Dayorama pages loaded in any one day. So if one person visits five different Dayorama pages, that's five hits. "Unique users" refers to the number of different people visiting. So if one person visits five different Dayorama pages, that's still only one unique user.)

There's been a tornado in London and the whole of southern England has suffered a pretty blustery day - but I've been safe indoors watching the enthralling spectacle that is a blogstorm.

If you're a regular reader you'll be sick of this by now, but a Reading academic reckons he's onto a winner with a new theory about dividing zero. However, so far he seems to have been far more successful at dividing the mathematical community. It has to be said that the weight of opinion suggests he's got it wrong.

This all started yesterday evening, when South Today broadcast our piece on the prof and his brand new number - nullity. We had a wave of people descend on the site to watch extended footage of Dr James Anderson explaining his theory and leave their comments.

Then, somehow, Slashdot got hold of the article. Slashdot is a major US science and technology website, read by many thousands of people. Those many thousands of people all clicked the link to the Berkshire site and left their comments.

But these days, people don't just read major websites and leave comments. They write about everything themselves, just like we do on Dayorama. I've just done a Google Blog Search for links to the Berkshire site from blogs and, since we published the story, over 100 bloggers have had their say.

Remember that all these hits from intrigued bloggers and mathematicians are going to the Berkshire site. But then Buzzfeed, a site promising to 'find your new favorite thing', latched onto the Dayorama posts about nullity.

Since then we've had what is, at the time of writing, the second best day ever in this website's history - almost all the traffic coming from Buzzfeed. If 11 more people visit this site in the last half an hour of today, it'll become the all-time number one day for Dayorama (taking the crown from David's brilliant tribute to Radio 2 producer Paul Walters, a day's traffic single-handedly driven by the online forum for Terry Wogan listeners).

So what are all these bloggers linking to the article saying? Well, there seem to be three broad categories:

• 1: Wow! What a cool idea! / Leave Dr Anderson alone

A rare bird, that latter one. I've seen three or four people mounting defences for Dr Anderson in the face of mounting criticism, and about 20 blogs thrilled that the problem of dividing by zero has been cracked, not having noticed the accompanying outrage.

• 2: Dr Anderson is a quack, boffin and/or crank

By far the most popular choice, both of mathematicians and intrigued layfolk (probably swayed by the volume of negative comments underneath the BBC article). There are sub-categories here too: some people think his proof doesn't work; some think he's proving something that they've known for years and it's nothing new; some think he's dangerously wrong; and some think all three.

• 3: What on earth are the BBC doing reporting this?

Obviously the interesting one from my point of view. Five or ten blogs, and some of the people commenting, think it's outrageous that the BBC has published this crackpot theory from a quack, boffin and/or crank. They see it as irresponsible journalism to write about something like this without waiting for it to be peer-reviewed by other mathematicians and published in a recognised journal.

We're getting Dr Anderson into the BBC studios to answer all the points raised by people in category two, so let me deal with those in category three. I think it's entirely responsible and demonstrably sound journalism to publish this story.

First, let's remember the raison d'etre of the BBC Berkshire site. It's designed to reflect local stories and provide features of interest to people living in the area. That doesn't mean we can let normal BBC standards slip, but it does mean we're not writing for a global audience of mathematicians. Our target audience is people who live in Berkshire and the vast majority will have no specialist mathematical knowledge.

That means the article is going to be written in broad terms with no great mathematical detail. We don't want to write an article that's impenetrable to the majority of our readers, we have to word it so it's understandable to anyone. We're not going to reproduce pages of mathematics because it's not our job. Some people have had a go at Dr Anderson for using simplified terminology too, but he knows we're playing to a mainstream audience, and at the time we filmed him, he was showing his theory to a class of schoolchildren. Those circumstances were never going to breed an in-depth half-hour scientific discussion, and none of our regular readers would want that.

Second, if you only want us to report scientific news once it's appeared, peer-reviewed, in a recognised journal, it's going to be very dry, and it probably won't be news. Of course there's a place for that and the last thing we want to do is mislead anyone, intentionally or otherwise. The BBC's mission is to educate, inform, and entertain. I think a story about a University of Reading academic potentially solving a mathematical conundrum ticks those boxes - especially by opening it up for over 500 commenters to have their say on the issue.

We did not present Dr Anderson's theory as gospel, although with hindsight it could have been made clearer that this is very much a theory and by no means universally accepted. But we certainly weren't shouting a mathematical revolution from the rooftops. Dr Anderson has, in one or two places, been chastised for coming to the media with his theory instead of his peers - a sure sign of a quack, boffin and/or crank according to one blogger. Actually, one of our reporters happened to meet him during a demonstration against the closure of the university's physics department a couple of weeks ago, got chatting, and discovered Dr Anderson reckoned he was onto something. He certainly didn't break the door down looking for media coverage.

I think the telling factor in this story is the sheer amount of interest it's generated. If it wasn't an interesting story, if it didn't offer a subject of real debate, and if it didn't have any base in fact, it wouldn't have 500-plus people wanting to sound off about it within 24 hours of being published. For some reason dividing by zero captures the imagination, whether you're a mathematician or not. The reason for the article is to say: "look, a local academic thinks he has a great idea. Does he?" And hundreds of people have written in to either agree or disagree. Sure, far more people disagree, but they're not all on that side of the fence. There is a real gem of a debate in there.

It's not for the BBC to become a journal of mathematics - that's the job of journals of mathematics. It's for the BBC to provide lively science reporting that engages and involves people. And if you look at the original page, you'll find a list as long as your arm of engaged and involved people. But it's not job done til we take all their concerns and questions to Dr Anderson - so stay tuned.

I have to update you on our "dividing by zero" story, told on the BBC here and on Dayorama here.

Since last night, the world has gone crazy. We've had over four hundred comments on the BBC page and doubtless thousands of visitors (we've yet to see the stats), most of whom have probably come from Slashdot, the major science/technology site which somehow picked up on the story late yesterday.

Overwhelmingly, commenters to Slashdot and the BBC think Dr Anderson's theory of 'nullity' is, well, null and void. The main arguments seem to be either that it's just a mathematical device that anybody could have come up with which solves nothing, or it's fundamentally flawed in the proof and won't work anyway.

I'm working hard to get hold of Dr Anderson to put all these questions and get a response - it's great to be encouraging a proper mathematical debate! Of all the articles I thought might grab some attention and foster a good discussion, I'd never have thought to put money on a video purporting to show a new means of dividing by zero. It's brilliant.

Dr Anderson, to his immense credit, has already written a robust defence of his theory into our comments system. The bad news is, the comments system will only take so many thousand characters and, as you can imagine, a robust defence of division by zero needs more than a few thousand characters! So, quite hilariously, the good prof's argument is cut short in its prime, just when he's about to get to his proof.

The conspiracy theorists will be out to get us if we leave it that way for long, so early next week I'm hoping to track the doc down for some serious mathematical meditation. Until then our expert commenters will have to remain, er, divided...

What you're looking at is proof, according to one Reading scientist, that you can divide by zero. Or at least, you can sort of divide by zero. If Dr James Anderson has his way, instead of your calculator giving you an error message should you try it, you would get a brand new number: nullity.

I've written his proof on the back of an envelope for added authenticity - nullity is the funny zero-with-an-I-in-it seen in the top left hand corner. You can watch Dr Anderson explain it all himself in an article here.

One of my colleagues went out and filmed him, a piece BBC News 24 and South Today used this evening. Up til 10:30pm tonight we'd had over fifty comments on the web feature, an amazing level of interest in what is, essentially, maths. It's heartening that people who like maths come out of the woodwork given the temptation!

The only problem is, a lot of them think Dr Anderson has got it horribly wrong. Here's a small selection of comments:

"In the derivation when the expression 1/0 x 0/1 is written isn't the 1/0 undefined and the solution unattainable?"

"I fail to see how this idea could withstand basic algebra."

"This is absurd, you can't just take two unknown quantities and set them to your own made up definition."

Some of the comments slip into fairly detailed mathematical language - which creates the fun spectacle of people trying to write "nought over one to the power of minus one" using a plain text box. But the message is clear: Dr Anderson has by no means convinced everyone, and it's looking like he may have struggled to convince anyone.

The next step will be for me to take all these concerns to Dr Anderson and see if we can get a response or a clarification. It seems odd to me that his theory would get as far as television if it's so easily blown out of the water by visitors to our site, so there must be something more to it.

But I'm not going to go before I've armed myself with a little more knowledge. I've harnessed the rusting remnants of my A level maths to reply to one lady who wrote in about 'nullity', since I reckoned I could spot a hole in her logic, but I'm struggling to keep up with the main thrust of the debate. There's only one person to turn to: my old maths teacher, Mr Cutts.

I've fired off an email - if anyone is able to tell me, in simple terms, whether Dr Anderson is onto something or not, it will be him. Whatever the outcome, I think it's brilliant that one of our most successful articles in ages has been all about maths. Perhaps we shouldn't despair for civilization just yet.

Every schoolboy knows, or pretends, that when it comes to revision time, treats are every bit as important as books. This is why, after a successful few days swatting for my 'how to run a bus company' exam, I decided to enjoy a night of sheer indulgence. I cooked myself steak (Tournedos Rossini, no less, a dish so rich it will almost certainly kill me by morning), I opened a bottle of something nice, and I unleashed Colin Farrell in Phone Booth, a film I've been meaning to watch since it came out years ago.

If you haven't seen it, 81 minutes of thrilling action centres around a New York telephone box, as a crazed sniper takes hold of its occupant and puts him through just about every dilemma you can imagine, via a telephone. Gripping stuff in an odd sort of way, and not least because you're being terrified only by the voice of Keifer Sutherland, who probably delivered every line from an out-of-vision booth roughly the size of a telephone kiosk, and came about as close to a gun as he did to my Tournedos. (I'd have killed anybody who'd come within feet of it, by the way.)

But if you have seen it, and you thought the call Colin Farrell received was alarming, just imagine picking up this voicemail this afternoon...

"This is a message for Mr Richard Henderson. My name is Francesca, I'm calling from Baddams Law. I've just received your voicemail in response to my previous calls to you in relation to the matter of Plummer and Fenny.

I just wanted to let you know, I've given your phone number... well... for the Chambers... to the defendant, who might call you if he's got any queries for the hearing on the Thursday. Also, the witness, Mr Fernandino, well... I haven't been able to get in touch because the petrol station he worked at was knocked down and rebuilt, and he's relocated to a different workplace... but we do have the statements which we can keep in reserve if it all goes badly - don't know how useful that will be.

Anyway, do call me if you have any queries."

Sufficient is it to say, having received this at around 4 o'clock this afternoon, I did have one or two queries, and I did call her to make it perfectly clear I would not be receiving any calls from the defendant on Thursday. Sadly, Francesca herself was unavailable to take my call in person, but the lady answering the telephone didn't seem in the slightest bit surprised that her colleague had been revealing sensitive information to the answerphone of Mr One-digit-out. Instead, she let out a faint sigh, almost beyond despair, and as if to say "oh, okay - it's happened again", rattled off that she'd "send an email round". They even have a procedure for it.

Let's hope the message gets through, otherwise I could find myself incriminated in some awful court case of which I know nothing. It could well end up with my being pointed at by a sniper in a telephone box. It would certainly buy me some time off from my revision. Suddenly Friday seems a long way away...

Did you know that if you book a return flight with British Airways there's an £8.80 surcharge to land you back at the same airport from which you departed?

It's true. I'm not sure if it's policy or not at BA, but earlier this evening, when booking a short break for June next year, I was surprised to find I had to pay almost £9 extra for my return flight to land at the same London airport!

For around a tenner less BA were offering to fly me out of London Heathrow but deposit me back at London Gatwick. Pay the tenner and the plane will land at Heathrow instead. I'm sure there's a feasible reason for wanting to take off from Heathrow and arrive at Gatwick, but it's safe to say that would be pretty bloody inconvenient.

On the plus side, I don't think we sometimes quite appreciate the technology now at our disposal, and quite how fast it's changing.

Seven months before taking to the skies in an Airbus A321, I can of course reserve my tickets, reserve hotel rooms at my destination and check that a regular train runs between the airport and the city centre.

But I can also tell the airline I want one of the party to have the vegetarian option on the flight, and I can choose the exact seats I want on each plane - row 24, A and B. All in five minutes without the involvement of a single other soul, at no cost in time or effort to either me or the airline.

You probably take that for granted, but would you have done a year ago? Two years ago? Five years ago? In a very brief space of time technology has accelerated to the point where, more than half a year in advance, I can put someone in seat 24B on a British Airways flight out of London Heathrow, and I can tell the airline to serve them a vegetarian brunch. Seconds later my ticket has arrived by email.

I used to think technology had got boring, to the point where there was nothing major left to invent. Then I thought about wireless power, but that seems ages off, so I decided there was nothing exciting being developed now. How foolish I was - with every passing day there's progress somehow, somewhere, on something. And in a few months' time we probably won't bat an eyelid at that something, because we're becoming so used to this progress that very few things faze us. Think about it. What would someone have to invent to truly stun you?

Sometimes I look around at the BBC and wonder where all the creativity has gone. But far more often I'm left stunned by the sort of stuff being produced, stuff that makes me realise I've got a long, long way to go.

The series of short animations produced by the Newsround team, to illustrate child poverty in a way that kids will understand - and bother to watch - is a perfect case in point.

Late last week Tim Levell, the Newsround editor, wrote about them on the BBC's Editors' Blog:

One of the aims of CBBC is to make television that's engaging for seven to 11-year-olds, and all our recent research shows that bleakness is a turn-off, both visually and emotionally. Children respond best to strong visuals as well as some practical and positive outcomes.

So when CBBC's creative head Anne Gilchrist suggested the idea of using cartoons to tell the children's stories, everyone at Newsround instinctively knew that this could be a very exciting and powerful idea. As far as we know, no one has ever attempted to tell current affairs using animation.

Children we've shown it to have really liked the different animation styles, including photo-montage, comic strip and cardboard cutouts. They weren't really expecting a "documentary", but to our relief they've kept watching, and some have even had tears in their eyes by the end.

[source: BBC Editors' Blog - 'Strong visuals']

Tim's post about the background to the animations is good, but the comments people have left on it are better. A lady named Di wrote:

I saw the programme on the TV tonight and thought what a strange way to portray the stories - I felt it was a little demeaning. then I noticed my two children, especailly my son who is normally turned off by anything like this. The programme had their full attention throughout and they wanted to engage further after the programme finished too. I've changed my mind completely about the presentation style.

But a gentleman named Donal questioned the raison d'etre behind the animations:

Why is important for children to be aware of all the wrongs in the world so early? Can we not just let children be children, they will spend many years of their lives being aware of "the worlds problems" with out it being drilled into their heads so early.So children recognise other peoples misfortunes? What would you like them to do about it? Feel guilty? Childhood seems to becoming ever shorter.

I've watched every single one on the Newsround website and so should you, they're outstanding and deserving of an award. Not only is the animation absolutely first class - five different techniques for five different stories - but the actual content really is worthwhile and well presented.

Each story is voiced by the child it involves, and we're given the merest glimpse of the actual child at some point in the animation, to remind us that this is the story of a very real person.

Di, in her comment, has it right I'm sure when she says her children were gripped. I'd go further than she does - I didn't find the cartoons demeaning at all, and they kept me much more involved in the story than if this had been a dry Newsnight or BBC News 24 report into child poverty. No reporters, no talking heads, no statistics, just real kids telling their stories with something interesting to watch. No wonder Newsround's target audience responded well to it.

As for Donal's fears about the dwindling innocence of childhood, I don't agree that children should be kept away from the bad things in life, just as I don't think children should be intentionally exposed to them either. It's not like Newsround wants every child to live in poverty, it's just trying to broaden the horizons a bit for children who don't, or let children who do know they're not alone - and that they've got a voice. Kids are exposed to enough truly horrible news - wars, murders, etc - on the 'adult' news, that the least their very own version can do is try to explain some of the bad stuff in the most accessible way possible.

It really would be demeaning if Newsround spent every bulletin pretending the world is a faultless arena of joy to an audience containing, in many cases, kids who know damned well it isn't.

To my horror, loading iTunes because I found myself stuck for good music in the car earlier, I have discovered a small yet disturbing alteration to the iTunes shop's homepage.

Previously the set of five tabs at the top of the page showed popular genres of music - rock, pop, etc. Among these there once lay an option entitled 'Alternative'.

In a move which, if it reflects society, means we might as well all emigrate now, the 'Alternative' option has been replaced with either 'Hip-Hop/Rap' or 'R&B/Soul' (I can't remember which of those two had already been there - suffice to say neither play much part in my music browsing).

This comes as a crushing blow to my faith in British music or, at the very least, British music tastes. I was only just sat here thinking how far our musical culture has come in the last five years as well. Fields' "If You Fail We All Do" was the song used for the end credits after Sky's coverage of Man City v Watford (how very apt, the game ending 0-0).

The song was a brilliant choice and one that simply wouldn't have found its way onto mainstream television until the advent of the likes of Soccer AM, which did wonders to promote the practice of setting football highlights to obscure choices of music.

Now, dropping indie tunes into your broadcasting is all the rage - I can tell you that the highlights of our Reading match commentaries sound pretty good over the top of new Muse track "Map Of The Problematique", for example.

But if 'Alternative' is no longer considered worthy of top billing by iTunes, does this mean the damned fools buying rap, hip-hop and what is laughably dubbed 'R&B' are winning out? In a few years, will my abject evening sat in front of a dismal Manchester City performance be capped off with a cap in my ass? I shudder at the thought. Now is my winter of discontent.

Some years ago I used to work behind the scenes of a radio 'phone-in, and often the show was so frantic that the only way for the presenter to deliver instructions to his team was to do so on-air. He became quite adept at throwing in little phrases like "we'll be getting X, Y and Z on the line shortly to help you with that", and with practice, we became equally adept at translating them as subtle code for "haven't you got that call in yet?". I note from the closing lines of Mr Williams' most recent post that the technique now exists 'cross platform' (as current BBC dialect would have it), and that my delay in getting photographs of last night's festive party chez OJ 'to air' here has been noted by the powers that be. Looks like I'm in trouble...

But it's not the first time I've been told off in the last 48 hours; and Ollie himself must share the blame for the first occasion...

Welcome to the foyer of OJ's rather fine pad in Central London, the venue for an equally fine Christmas gathering to which Ollie and I (along with many loyal Dayorama readers, it seems) flocked last night. Slightly weather beaten from a long day at the broadcasting coal face, we found ourselves a little unprepared for the challenge of entering the building, a process which began with the most formidable electronic door we'd seen since our visit to Amy's p(a)lace a couple of weeks ago.

After a quick round of Laurel and Hardy-esque pushing and shoving, we eventually plucked up the courage to buzz the intercom, only to be admitted to the foyer without questioning. Easy peasy. But wait... isn't that a 'phone ringing on the desk?

The centrepiece of a deserted reception, the 'phone was crying out to be answered, and yet neither of us could muster the bravado to enter the spotlight of what surely must be a party jape. Certain that we must be being observed from party HQ, we arrogantly ignored the ring and barged our way towards the lift, assuming that the 'phone would stop ringing the moment we disappeared from sight. Indeed, it did - so it must have been a trick. Now what would happen if we returned to the foyer?...

Surely enough, the 'phone resumed as we approached, and Ollie and I prepared to take the upper hand in this game of cat of mouse. We picked up the receiver, placed it on the desk beside the 'phone, and ran away laughing like little schoolboys. One to us, for sure!

With our point made, I retuned to pick up the 'phone and declare a draw, and was greeted by an unfamiliar Scottish voice on the other end of the line, clearly not OJ as expected, but the building's Porter, who had been trying to reach us with instructions on where to proceed.

"If you'll calm down and answer the 'phone responsibly, I'll tell you where to go..."

Several long moments later, our blushes were spared when the Porter revealed himself to be just as amused by us as we had been by him, and he later proved his good humour by declaring himself to be George Orwell. That well known Scot...

Good humour turned out to be the unspecified theme for the guest list, as we had the pleasure of meeting and laughing with so many lovely people. One by one, the Dayorama readers outed themselves, often with the most dramatic of entrances (Ollie was told by one that it was "just like meeting someone off the television" - I think I know what she means... people are always shorter than you'd imagined them, aren't they?). And then there was poor Anthony...

I'm no expert, but I didn't think he was looking well. Still, at least he'd made the effort to dress for the occasion, and heaven knows how he made such great mulled wine...

A lovely night, and one which will launch me into a week of revision with high spirits. Speaking of which, better get cracking...

Great news for Graeme Murty - he's BBC South's Sports Personality of the Year.

Great news for us too, because it means the weeks we've spent hectoring Reading fans to pick up the phone and vote have paid off.

The people counting the votes (it was a phone vote between Graeme, yachtswoman Dee Caffari and mountaineer Rhys Jones) kept telling us the vote was extremely close, and at one point announced to us that Graeme was in second place.

So we've spent almost every news and sport bulletin not-so-subtly reminding people which number they need to call in order to vote for Graeme, and tonight he picked up the award.

But no matter how big a personality Graeme Murty is, he's not big enough for Alan Ball to be able to say his name properly.

Watching the live webcast of the event on the net (it wasn't on TV so that was a bit of a triumph for the BBC's web services, even if the connection was sometimes dodgy), Ball opened the envelope and announced "Graeme Murphy" as the winner.

Let's hope Graeme can see the funny side, especially given the inevitable stick he'll get for that in training. But then he's a very funny man when he comes in to do an hour's radio on our breakfast show most Mondays. I'll be making sure I'm up bright and early to listen out for him tomorrow!

Good luck to David, by the way, who will be spending this week frantically working away at books full of bus terminology in preparation for his exam on Friday. And when he's not doing that, he'll be providing us with a pictorial tale involving OJ, a telephone and a boar's head. It's worth the wait.

The highlight of an online sports journalist's career - reporting live from The Ashes. You're at the ground, you've got your laptop, you've got your press pass, the second day's play is about to start. What could possibly go wrong?

Don't ask BBC Sport's Scott Heinrich that question.

It’s one hour before the first ball on day two of the second Ashes Test and I can tell you that the four walls of the South Australian Cricket Association administration office are very, well, clean.

I’m stuck here for the time being, intercepted at the gates by the SACA fashion police because of crimes committed against… the collar. I’m not wearing one.

I knew members were required to adhere to dress regulations which state that men must wear collars. I had no idea the same rules applied to the media. As a colleague just pointed out to me, “when did anyone care what journalists wear?’.

A friend of mine is bringing a collared shirt for me. Soon I’ll be in. I hope it’s a pink number. Geoff Lawson said yesterday pink was in for blokes this summer.

[source: Test Match Special blog]

I hope my good friend and colleague Andy's taking heed of these developments in the policing of journalistic attire. I'd hate for him to be thrown out of Aldershot v Basingstoke tomorrow for wearing "away colours"...

Here's the story of how my portrait ended up hanging on the wall of a house in America.

When I was about six or seven years old, my dad got the wife of one of his work colleagues to paint three portraits of me - one wearing my school rugby shirt, one wearing a normal collared shirt, and one wearing a polo-neck sweater.

My dad kept the rugby shirt one - obviously it has sporting significance, not least because it must have been the first and last time anyone saw me in a school rugby shirt.

My mum kept the one with the collared shirt, and the third one - with me in the polo-neck - went to my nan and grandad. However, by common consent the polo-neck portrait wasn't as good as the other two.

Let's fast forward 15 years to Wednesday evening, at which point my dad suddenly remembers he has a story to tell me.

Earlier in the week, the same old work colleague had returned to the business to see how everybody was getting on. My dad had asked after his family and that had reminded his old colleague of an odd phone call they had recently received.

When they answered the phone, on the other end of the line was an American voice, explaining that they were dialling the phone number found on the back of a portrait in their possession.

On further questioning, the American couple revealed that they had bought the portrait - of a young boy in a polo-neck sweater - at a car boot sale in Scotland a while ago, and were keen to learn more about the subject of the painting.

So apparently a portrait of yours truly is hanging in the household of an entirely unrelated American couple, via a car boot sale in Scotland. As you might expect there are one or two missing links here, but I think I can be relatively sure of what has happened.

My nan and grandad have moved house a fair few times even in my lifetime (and many more times before that, my grandad having been in the RAF). Often they have moved house along with my aunt, hopping between such varied places as Brighton, Minehead, the Isle of Arran and even Spain.

This must have meant a good deal of packing, and a good deal of weeding out the things that didn't really need to travel each time. From what my mum and dad have told me about the polo-neck portrait, it was not of the finest order (unlike the other two, with which both parents seem to remain enamoured). It's therefore entirely plausible that between them, my grandparents and my aunt gave it the boot during one of their numerous house-moving phases.

The portrait may have had several homes before turning up at a car boot sale, but the Scottish location seems to suggest it bade farewell to my family when my grandparents left the Isle of Arran, back in the 1990s.

At some point since, our American couple have come over, visited a car boot sale, taken a shine to the portrait, bought it and hung it on the wall at home!

It's an extraordinary chain of events. Granted, somewhere in my wildest dreams there's probably something about portraits of me hanging up in homes worldwide, but I hadn't bargained on it quite yet. Maybe it'll turn up on the Antiques Roadshow before my days are out...