Light years from literary genius

It's official. In view of the letters that have been pouring into Derry Street, begging me to stand for Mayor of London, I've decided to run (or at least jog) for office.

Because I already have a day job, I'll have to implement my policies after work (so citizens will doubtless refer to me as a Night Mayor), and I shall rule you, Old Testament-style, with a rod of iron.

When I take power, I shall force crematoriums to give discounts when disposing of burns victims (well, the job is already half done), I shall instigate a shoot-to-kill policy against wheel clampers and traffic wardens, and to discourage thieves, bicycles will be fitted with spring-loaded bayonets which thrust up through the seat.

Less controversially, I shall also crack down hard on twisted adolescent cyber-terrorists (the ones who infect the e-mail system with viruses and cause untold misery to office workers) by tracking them down, burying them up to their necks in sand, and releasing the red ants, after first smearing their faces with honey and (of course) spam.

According to last night's Books for Boys (BBC4), these adolescent males play games with their computers because they can't find anything stimulating to read.

Notwithstanding the Harry Potter phenomenon, British boys are now reading 15 per cent less than they were five years ago, and the programme set out to discover what ingredients a novel should contain if it's going to attract them back to the delights of literature.

As usual, nobody questioned the basis of the widely-held prejudice that the printed word is morally and intellectually superior to information absorbed via a screen, even though many movies, TV programmes, and computer games are more original and thought-provoking than many books.

And why are people who have digested a lot of books always admiringly referred to as "well-read," yet people who have watched a lot of television are never praised for being "well-viewed"?

Conducting the search for what makes the perfect boys' novel was car-crazed Richard Hammond.

Why BBC4 should have hired an exile from Top Gear (sporting a Mary Quant-style leather bodystocking with go-faster stripes down the sides and expressing himself in a dated Jeremy Clarksonesque new-laddish vocabulary) initially baffled me, but perhaps there was method in their madness: not only did I feel very clever, but I experienced an urge to switch my TV off and read a book.

According to this Little Jeremy (whose own major literary influences were revealed to be Biggles and Victor comic), what all boys want is "a cracking good adventure story," and the class at a swanky prep school (where, coincidentally, his brother happens to teach) seemed to agree, speaking enthusiastically about the plots of James Bond and The Hobbit.