I’m not exactly sure when it was that I decided boredom needed to be eradicated from my life. It was perhaps in my late teens. One day, I realised that this thought had germinated, pulsing silent and adamant in the background of my project of post-school personal reformation. I hadn’t, as others seemingly had, been instructed by my parents that ‘only boring people get bored’. It was a conclusion I arrived at independently, borne out of the agonising loneliness of adolescence, and made possible by a degree of social perspicacity only achieved after matriculation. Perhaps it was going to university that did it. Perhaps it was getting rid of my once-beloved, not-quite-cool, f luorescent orange, three-quarter-length shorts (adolescence: it’s a strange time).