IN TERMS of showing off, I imagine firing staples into your own flesh and whizzing down snowy hills in plastic toilet cubicles, Jackass-style, is pretty good fun.

So why does David Blaine always choose really boring stuff to do?

I don't mean it's dull to watch, or talk about, or wonder whether it's all for real. I mean boring for him.

Unless you've been under a rock, you'll know he's started a 44-day stint in a 7ft deep, 7ft long, 3ft wide plastic box dangled over the River Thames beside Tower Bridge.

There'll be no distractions or human contact. All he's got up there is a photo of his late mother, lip balm, a pillow, a mat, a blanket, a journal and a supply of nappies. Sounds delightful. He'll apparently consume just water.

I do think that having the journal, though, is cheating. No distractions? What's this then if it's not a distraction?

No, he should have to memorise what happened each day and write it all down - no doubt for big-money serialisation in some newspaper - when he's finished.

So what will he do when he's not writing? His thumbs will be raw from twiddling.

Gazing at all those wonderstruck people looking up at him will only have limited appeal.

Though someone whose sole purpose in life seems to be about mentally screaming: "LOOK AT ME!", he'll surely be chuffed to bits.

Even if they're only throwing eggs and golf balls at him ...