A more accurate opening sentence would be "those of you who have been watching with half-hearted amusement while this column dances in circles, chases its own tail and then lies down for a little nap on the floor..."

I'll begin again.

Those of you who have been kindly humouring my directionless, pet puppy of a column will recall over the last few weeks, it has talked to you about, respectively, exam failure, boredom, and cake.

Now this week, I've finally persuaded it to stop chewing the curtains and fetch me a stick.

In an amazing feat of journalistic construction, I am going to unite these three topics in one big, end-tying-up article.

Impressed? You should be.

Cake

I've spent the bulk of the last few days on a project that not only banishes my boredom, but may well provide the ultimate exam-failure back-up plan.

And not only does it banish boredom and provide a rosier future for liaisons with the Student Loans Company, but is also features cake.

I know, I know, it's too much to hope for.

The premise is this: when I fail my degree and am forced to leave UCL under a cloud of scorn and library fines (possibly in a ceremonious ritual involving an enormous boot on a mechanical arm to propel me out of Bloomsbury and into a more suitable area, like Balham), I will open a café.

Joining me in the venture will be the coursemates who shared my revision-session-come-cocktail-party ethos and also need employment.

Here's the exciting bit — to ensure the several million pounds of fees we've spent studying English haven't been entirely wasted, we are going to make it a literary-themed café.

Poetry

We will serve poetry with every pie! Imagery with every ice cream!

You'll come out nourished both physically and intellectually, with a few splashes of inspiration spilled down your front. And everybody knows that calories don't count when you're learning — you never get a fattie on University Challenge.

That's a scientific fact.

Paxman would give them a good roasting… in goose fat.

Naturally, then, everything we sell must have some bookish resonance.

This is where my project comes in.

Though by project, I really mean "game".

Or "life-wasting evidence of early senility", as it has been described by persons who won't be eligible for a discount off their Milkshake-speare.

Authors

Every foodstuff must be an author or book, and I'm proud, or ashamed, to say I have three pages' worth.

Some are obvious classics — Smoked Salmon Rushdie, Charles Chickens, Spotted Dick King Smith — while some require a more discerning customer to appreciate their colossal wit — J.D. Salad-inger, W.H. Aubergine, Extra Virgil Olive Oil, etc.

You can pop in for breakfast, when we serve up a great Stephen Fry-up or The Unbearable Lightness of Beans (on toast), or treat yourself to War and Peas soup with Catcher in the Rye bread for lunch.

Our Great Eggs-pectations come scrambled, fried or poached, or if you like curried lentils there's always some Roald Dahl.

We'll try to make sure nothing's Frances Hodgson Burnt.

I would stop now but I'm not sure I can.

Dessert

Dessert will, of course, be abundant.

Try our Ezra Pound cake, or Dorothy Parkin.

Those with a sweet tooth might like some Agatha Christalised Ginger, with a Look Back in Meringue-r.

There's also The Great Gateaux-by, Rhubarbara Cartland crumble and my personal favourite, Flapjackie Collins (we're prepared to stretch the term literature to accommodate a great pun).

To drink we have Lemonadrian Mole, Wendy Cope-a-Cola or Lucozadie Smith.

Having, in a reckless moment, opened up the project to my parents, whose post-degree minds enjoy nothing more than a night of exuberant punning, I fully expect in time to be able to branch out into evening dining and maybe a takeaway service.

Browning

"Chocolate Browning!" my mother shouts down the phone where a normal person would say hello.

"Petticoat Tale of Two Cities! Brighton Rock Cakes! Must dash!"

Having already combated boredom, unemployment and journalistic futility, to also be providing my elders with a fun pastime seems excessive goodwill.

I might have a Jeffrey Archers and Lemonade, to celebrate…which wouldn't be my first choice, but until someone can think up a literary spin on a vodka tonic, it will have to do.

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