It's true that the more I do nothing, the more I do nothing. John Mortimer's excellent new book, "Where There's A Will", points out that writing calls down writing. It's important to write something – anything – rather than nothing. A fear of making substandard diary entries has rather put me off doing any entries at all. The thing is, I do rather have a reputation as a Minor Celebrity Diarist, and the more I think about that, the less I approach my keyboard.

However, I have now found a treatment for apathy. Whenever my brain says "I can't be bothered to write a diary entry", I now convince it instead that "I can't be bothered <i>not</i> to write a diary entry". Doing nothing at all can be such hard work.

Thankfully I've taken notes whenever anything vaguely interesting has occurred to me, and will now go about clearing the backlog of memories.

Removal of distractions helps. I was spending long hours playing the only computer game I've ever enjoyed – Age Of Empires. The solution was simple. I threw the game away. My epic clearing out of possessions on EBAY is nearing conclusion, too. Lately, I've discovered that it's almost impossible to get anyone to buy a signed Divine Comedy album for £4. I had to resort to relisting the thing for another ten days. O, Mr Hannon, victim of the vagaries and vicissitudes of pop fashion. This is what happens when you insist on dismissing your suited persona as taking some kind of Mike Flowers Pops shilling, in favour of dressing down and employing the Radiohead Producer. Dickonist Rule Number One – Never, Ever, Try To Fit In.

Meanwhile a Ruthie Henshall CD went for £101, the most I've ever received for a single item. Mr Lloyd-Webber, who is richer than any rock or pop musician, is quite right – the real money lies in musical theatre. Musicals will always win in the end. They carry a connotation of accessibility, of Proper Entertainment. When Mr Bush was interviewed by Mr Frost about coming to London, the first thing he remarked about his previous trip there, was that he had gone to see "Cats". Whatever one thinks about the work of Mr Lloyd-Webber, becoming a Tourist Attraction can never be dismissed.

Mr Blaine knew this too. If he <i>hadn't</i> wanted to be a Tourist Attraction, he could have conducted his little starvation show in a room on a webcam, or in a TV studio. Or he could have chosen Ipswich, Romford or Hull in which to have his perspex cell suspended in the air. But no, he chose the heart of London, just by Tower Bridge. People came to watch, even if they disapproved. This, then, is the ultimate aim of the Dickonist – to become a tourist attraction. Perhaps I should apply to stand on the spare plinth at Trafalgar Square for a while, now that Mayor Livingstone has had all the pigeons deported. Though unlike Mr Blaine, I would insist on a dressing room in which to recharge my appearance every now and then.

Such a stunt isn't even particularly original. I'm reminded of an local anecdote concerning the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. While a schoolboy in Highgate, he once bet a fellow pupil that he could survive the longer without taking any liquids. He won after a few days, by which time his tongue had turned black.

Also, in the mid 90s, I went to see the actress Tilda Swinton sleeping in a transparent box in the Serpentine Gallery. She remained as still as the glass around her, and was there for a week. This was intended as Art. Mr Blaine simply added tourism to the equation. He suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous paintballs, but came away rich in the currency of Cable TV Sponsorship, and in the Currency of Attention. The latter being by which all things are truly bought and sold.

Watching TV and listening to music has proven less of a distraction too, thanks to my continued waning of blanket enthusiasm in both mediums. I've found that if anything is My Sort Of Thing, someone somewhere will alert me to it. Whether it's The Hidden Cameras (music), or Curb Your Enthusiasm (TV), or I Capture The Castle (film), or even clothes – I'm writing this while wearing a pair of two-tone bowling shoes chosen for me by Mr Chipping. All these things came to me via others. Other people do tend to know Dickon Edwards as well as, or even better than, myself. Keeping In Touch is no longer necessary. Anything that might matter to me will come to me. If I am ignorant on any particular topic, it's more often than not something people wouldn't expect me to know much about, like Justin Timberlake, text messaging, or bungy-jumping. In these instances, I give the Dickon Edwards take. That is what people expect, and we both go away happy.

To this end, I have been recruited by Plan B Magazine to cover the besuited Black Metal band Ackercocke this weekend.

Before I forget, I should alert my readers to two new instances of my attention-grabbing on the Web.

Firstly, Secret Crush Records of New York is the first record label to be named after a Dickon Edwards song, as far as I'm aware. I am immensely flattered. If that weren't enough, the label's website currently has a recent photo of me on the front page: http://www.secretcrushrecords.com/

Secondly, there's a new lengthy interview with me at The Mind's Construction website: http://www.geocities.com/themindsconstruction/ It's the most personal interview I've ever given. And it's accompanied by a few nice photos of me in Highgate Wood.

My thanks to them, and to you, for the attention. My apologies for the hiatus. But I am back.