Hello. It is March 2024. This is the fifteenth monthly instalment of Interesting Skull, the world’s favourite man’s favourite newsletter, with a great many laughs and a great many great thoughts, by me, the world’s favourite man, slow-careered writer Mike Rampton. Have you been well? Do your shoes fit okay? IT’S IMPORTANT.

“When I went to a large but underwhelming metal festival I had visions of bad things to come.”

“Portents of doom?”

“Yeah, and the thrash stages were rubbish too.”

“When you’re at the nudist beach, do you use sun cream?”

“On the whole, yes.”

“I… didn’t need to know that.”

“I can’t decide which day-planner to buy — the one with the athlete Mr Rutherford on or the one with the author Mr Fleming on.”

“Greg or Ian calendar?”

“Well, yeah, since 1582 that’s been the only type you can buy.”

Where did that month go? Despite the extra day, February vanished in the low-earning blink of a poor-decision-making eye.

Talking of eyes, nobody, absolutely nobody, will have noticed this, but the Interesting Skull logo — the work of my pal Dan Roberts — has been very slightly changed. Apparently it is more optically balanced now — I only mention it in case anyone’s booked in to get it tattooed. Don’t use the old version, you’ll feel foolish!

I painted a ceiling this month, and carried a lot of furniture back and forth, and had the floors done, and dropped a bottle of Kahlua, and drove a lot, and bought a mid-century TV cabinet for my mid-century TV. (You have never encountered a TV as warm as mine. It’s so hot. There’s a 32-inch hole in the ozone layer above my two-decade-old telly.)

I had an MRI on Tuesday. Not because there’s anything wrong with me — I am human perfection — but as part of a Cambridge University neuroscience study. At some point I’ll get to see detailed images of my brain, which seemed like too exciting an opportunity not to go for. It involved spending an hour and a quarter inside a coffin-like chamber, clicking some buttons while everything round me went boom a great many times. It was uncomfortable, claustrophobic and loud, but I am so knackered after a pretty brutal month that I fell asleep after about two minutes and had to be woken up.

As I dressed and left, I felt proud of my contribution to science, and furthering humanity’s understanding of the most complex object in the known universe. While it was the brilliant young scientists who were doing the hard work, allowing them to examine my brain meant I was also doing my part, helping us all on our journey — a journey of mystery and intricacy beyond belief.

Then I realised my foot hurt a bit because I’d left my watch in my shoe when I put my shoe on. What a thicko. WHAT a thicko! My brain isn’t furthering anything.

“I bought a bunch of stuff in a service station that I am planning to sell on.”

“Tebay?”

“No, Fleet Services is where I bought this stuff I’m planning t’Vinted.”

“I went to a tattoo shop on the boundary between my administratively-demarcated subnational region and the next one, and got a tattoo of the equals sign.”

“County lines?”

“Yes.”

“Myself and the guy who played Mr Spock in Star Trek are going to cut down every tree in Ireland’s fifth-biggest county!”

“Deforest Kerry?”

“No, he played Doctor McCoy.”

A deeply, deeply flawed joke involving Star Trek actor DeForest Kelley, there. When that show was first broadcast, it had Doctor McCoy and tractor beams. These days, we’re lucky if we can manage tractor McCoy and doctor beams! No, yeah, I know, yeah, it doesn’t, you’re absolutely right. I’m just really tired and I keep thinking things.

Vanessa Carlton would walk a thousand miles to just see you tonight. The Proclaimers would walk a thousand miles just to fall down at your door. Potentially there’s a situation where Vanessa Carlton is dating the Proclaimers, and they start off two thousand miles apart, and travel to an equidistant meeting point, but then the Proclaimers are annoyed Vanessa doesn’t have a door with her, and Vanessa’s annoyed that the Proclaimers have fallen down, making them harder to look at.

I had an idea for a genre of extreme metal you listen to when lying on the floor: groundcore. Loads of thoughts. I was driving while very stressed and had an idea for a thing called “cheddar cheese punch” that I was really excited about and was sure could become a cultural phenomenon but then once my heart rate dropped to a sensible speed I felt very differently. I wrote an article for the i paper about how hard it can be for dads to make friends. Not me, obviously! I am colossally popular and loved, and come up with great ideas that people find relatable!

I was talking to someone the other day and she asked how my wife’s broken leg was healing. I gave her an update, then answered a question with, “I’m not sure, I’ve never broken anything… apart from a few hearts!” and swept my hand through my hair. It’s not a terrible gag, but the timing was just, my word, the timing was bad. The pause after ‘anything’ was too, too long, and so bad. Not in an offensive way, just a dreadfully unfunny one. It seemed like I’d never made, or heard, a joke before. And, as the eight of you who read this know, that’s not true at all! I’ve done both. So there. You’ll see. You’ll all see.

“I met an iconic Eastenders character while dealing with a straight-talking shopkeeper.”

“Frank Butcher?”

“No, an extremely forthright greengrocer is who Kat Slater and I met.”

“When it comes to choosing a topping for this sweet pie from the southern states of America, nothing can be better than the nut of the hickory species carya illinoinensis.”

“Pecan?”

“No it can’t, that would be a horrible topping for a pie.”

“What kind of bronco would the author of The Thirty-Nine Steps want to ride?”

“Buchan?”

“Good call.”

There are so many headlines about A.I. at the moment, often involving it doing something bad. I think it would be funny if you clicked on a headline like “A.I. Ruined My Carpet” and the story was someone saying “‘Ey, I ruined my carpet”. It’s good!

and so on. I definitely began this thinking it was going somewhere.

February in numbers: Watched two films and nineteen episodes of television. Read two books. Had no baths. Did not at any point go out at night. Went for four runs, which isn’t enough, as on March 3rd I will be doing the Cambridge Half-Marathon. It won’t go well! My plan of “sign up for a big run every six months in order to keep exercising all year round” didn’t take into account just how little I want to go out running in the cold dark winter, or any other weather any other season. So that’ll suck!

Project updates: I wrote my author bio for October’s release of PROJECT SLURM, also known as There’s No Such Thing As A Silly Question: 213 Weird and Wonderful Questions About the World, Expertly Answered!, written by me and illustrated by Guilherme Karsten. It’s really good. The book, not the author bio. The author bio is: “Mike Rampton is an author and journalist who lives in a nice village near Cambridge with his wife and daughter. He often has a pen behind his ear because he thinks it makes him look clever and busy. He knows a good song about dinosaurs.” That’s hardly acceptable, is it?

I was meant to write PROJECT POPPLERS this month, but some stuff got shuffled around, which is why I’ve (a) had the time to let people look in my brain for money and (b) been low enough on money to let people jab around in my brain (the furthering if human knowledge, the schmurthering of schmuman schmowledge, I got £160 for that and very much needed it). The publishers have chosen a terrific illustrator for it though, it’ll be great!

Stop press: I’ve just found out that PROJECT SOYLENT COLESLAW is happening — two short non-fiction books for schools for HarperCollins. Fun! It gets me closer to my dream of not even knowing how many books I’ve written. Ask Julia Donaldson how many books she’s written, and she’ll just look into the middle distance, inhale an entire B&H SuperKing in one go, scratch her ear with an Argos biro and blow out the smoke while saying “loads, mate”. That could be me!

I’ve not done anything else, because I am the only mobile adult in my house, so if I’m not cheffing or chauffeuring I’m… chweeping up? Feel free to buy me a pint for when I can next go to pubs (I guarantee any/all donations will go on pints). Tell me I’m good!

Next issue: April 5th unless I do an experimental bonus one in the interim. HAVE A LOVELY MONTH

WHAT I AM CURRENTLY READING

There Are Loads Of Us In This Hill by Ant Colony

Diarrhoea by Paul E. Tummy

A Diagonal Edge on This Picture Frame by Beverly Surface

Nice Green Necklace, What’s It Made Of? by Jaden Metal

You’ll Need A New Contract by Irene E. Gotiated