April Fool As a young boy, my favourite story was the one about Goldilocks and the three bears. I'm sure you remember how that fairy tale went: a curly-haired blonde girl greedily gobbles up the porridge from different bowls until she gets to the taste sensation that is "just right".
Why do I want to share this with you on such a glorious Spring morning, you might ask?
Well, I was watching BBC Breakfast with the missus a few days ago when the programme featured something intriguing called the Ideas Bear.
That very same creature is currently proudly stood atop Google's sparkly, trendy, garage-like Campus in that wonderfully talented tech hub that many have brilliantly dubbed the Silicon Roundabout.
As a total layman on all things relating to chemical enhancement, I had to question what the silicon aspect of that venture meant with my wife, who just so happens to work in plastic surgery - a tough field right now, what with that recent boobie scandal and all, but I digress ...
Sadly, she gave me a blank stare and instead asked if I wanted cold milk poured over my gloriously "instant" porridge breakfast that arrived so quickly courtesy of the microwave's ping.
I gladly welcomed the cold cow juice and got on with my pushing-paper-around-the-desk day.
Later that night, I found myself Googling the Silicon Roundabout moniker and stumbled upon any number of fantastical businesses that could yet make the world believe in a future where money is a secondary concern, because the REAL currency is each and every avatar of us. Sweet, right?
I fell asleep stupefied by all the wonders contained within the 'ditch. Not long after that, I had the most vivid dream of my life!
Every line I uttered in my zeds was no longer than 140 characters and each comment seemed to form these incredible memes for the Facebook generation.
Before long, I was propelled into this strange world splashed with garish prime colours and featuring hairdressers whose fingers were plugged into ultrafast broadband sockets at every turn. It was scary. It was exhilarating. I didn't want it to end.
The possibilities were only just beginning, however, as I was elevated up on to the summit of Google's Campus where I finally got to meet Ideas Bear in the flesh.
He shook my hand and said, "Howdy, partner", which immediately put me at ease.
Ideas Bear was already spattered with a handful of post-it notes with buzz words such as Ambulance Air and Zany Wayney excitedly scribbled on them.
He didn't seem to mind the messiness of the notes on his otherwise pristine skin. Ideas Bear explained to me that it felt a bit like a money dance at a wedding where friends and family pin crisp dollar bills on the bride.
What would Ideas Bear do with the notes, I wondered.
The specially trained algorithm-injected Google mammal actually READ MY MIND before I could ask the question out loud.
"I'll keep them close to my chest," he grinned.
Warm fuzzies overwhelmed me as he spoke. It was as if Ideas Bear was the true Saint of the Silicon Roundabout, a chap anyone could pay a visit to and run a business pitch by.
The rest of my dream was hazy. I only remember being returned to the entrance of Google's Campus with a gigantic bowl of porridge that I cradled in my arms.
I turned to look back to catch one final glimpse of the Ideas Bear. But he stoically remained planted on the rooftop overlooking all those that pass through Shoreditch to marvel at the modern-day saviour.
And then my alarm went off, sharply shoving me back into reality. But after a few seconds of panic I cooled my boots by recalling that Ideas Bear was actually real. Phew.
I took a shower, got dressed and headed for the kitchen.
The wife was there already heating up my porridge - the best slow release energy breakfast there is!
She asked me if I was OK and explained that I had been somewhat restless in my sleep last night.
"Oh", I said. "That will be the Ideas Bear."
She just gazed back at me, picked up her bag and left.
I ate my porridge in blissful silence as I pondered my day ahead. I couldn't wait to recount my dream to George. Surely as one of his ministerial toilers my zeds may yet put me in line for a promotion.
Ideas Bear proved it to me. The possibilities are endless. ®
Timothy Smith, 24, is a Whitehall man, who makes cups of tea for the Chancellor and gives him those lovely little pink and yellow, fluffy-cushioned cakes as a special treat from time to time. He hopes one day to stand for the Tory Party in his hometown of Penrith and the Border where his good and greatly heroic pal Rory Stewart - of whom Brad Pitt is a fan - is currently MP. Smith is sure that once Hollywood has done THAT biopic Stewart won't be able to resist the lure of California. Who can!