While it is undoubtedly a strenuous task to stand behind a desk, with a fixed expression combining helpful competence with a certain aloofness that says "actually, Sir, your trout is cooked perfectly, you're just an imbecile", there is still a large portion of the day free for creative distraction.

So I set myself little challenges, pushing human endurance to its very limits.

I plait my hair, then unplait it again.

I see how long I can secretly stand on one leg for, without toppling over and giving the game away.

Last week, I stapled my own thumb, not even nearly by accident.

And it was at that moment, forced to admit the sorry saga as I begged for a blue plaster from the kitchen first aid box, that I realised I value the noble art of time-wasting above the well-being of my own body.

Give me molten wax, I'll dip my finger in it!

Tell me "careful, that plate's hot", and I will immediately touch it to see if you're lying.

Some might call it stupidity, but the truth is that I'm a martyr to the cause of pointless diversion.

There should be an award.

Which leads me neatly to Dan Glass, a kindred spirit who found fame last week after trying to superglue himself to Gordon Brown while collecting an award from Downing Street (sadly not the Pointless Diversion Cross, though he is now eligible).

It's a beautiful story.

Campaigning against Heathrow's third runway, apparently the stunt was an attempt to make the PM "stick to his environmental promises" – I'm holding in the mockery here, as clearly it would be the pot calling the kettle tenuous – and while the incident may not have made any ground-breaking progress for environmentalism, they should be proud to have produced possibly the best press statement ever to come out of number 10.

Downing Street said "there had been no stickiness of any significance".

So while the rest of the nation got on with fondly ridiculing the hapless Mr Glass (this surname is clearly a case of nominative determinism – just as I am destined to spend my life doing really, really well at everything, Dan must either possess a sharp and cutting wit, or be someone you can see right through who frequently goes to pieces. My hunch is the latter), I'll admit my first thought was "Mmm, bet that felt good to peel off afterwards".

Clearly the whole exercise is just a step up from year four art lessons, when the epitome of creative endeavour was covering your whole hand in PVA glue then peeling it off again in strips.

Dan Glass was probably king of the PVA-peel.

I bet he got it all off IN ONE GO.

Thus it's only natural for him to have stepped it up in recent years and started playing with the super stuff.

We must realise, though, that his protest wasn't a sacrifice for the sake of the planet.

Oh no my friends, it was a sacrifice for the sake of tomfoolery.

Indeed, so strong was his drive to achieve ultimate prankster status that you wonder if he really thought it through — was Dan Glass prepared to live as one with Gordon?

Pop to Waitrose with him?

Sit on his lap at ambassadorial receptions?

Take cold showers together (hot water would melt away the glue and ruin the beautiful union)?

Perhaps let him put his hand up the back of his shirt and say "gottle o' geer" to liven up the odd cabinet meeting?

It's got me thinking, in between balancing and stapling and plaiting, about who I'd glue myself to, if given the chance.

Keira Knightley is an obvious choice, just so the addition of my body mass could bring hers up to that of a whole normal human.

Or maybe Rob Brydon, so I can confirm once and for all that he and Anton Du Bec off Strictly Come Dancing are in fact the same person.

I'm actually in the midst of this thought train when the winning candidate for a sticky political sequel bumbles into the restaurant. Boris Johnson himself.

But while strong is the desire to catch him, bleach in hand, and prove that no grown man really can be that naturally flaxen, stronger is the knowledge that to glue myself to Boris would be to double the number of incompetent blondes in charge of the city.

I refrain, for the sake of the planet AND the noble art of tomfoolery.

So yes, restaurant receptionists have a lot of time on their hands.

But no glue, for the time being, unless any politicians complain about the trout.