'DAD, I'm bored." It must be the phrase kids say more than any other, with the possible exceptions of "I had it first", "It's not fair" and "Are we there yet?"

"There's nothing to do," they cry, even though they have televisions all over the house, more videos, CDs and computer games than the average

Blockbuster store, mountains of toys overflowing out of cupboards, and a whole world of adventure beyond the front door.

Our youngest announced he was bored the other day and I did my level best to bite my tongue and respond positively because dads are expected to come up with ideas:

"Let's go for a walk."

"Boring."

"Let's have a drive over to see Grandma and Grandad."

"Boring."

"Let's have a game of football in the garden."

"Boring."

"Let's go for a nice bike ride."

"Boring."

"Let's watch a film. Play a game. Paint a picture."

"Boring. Boring. Boring."

Through gritted teeth, I asked him what he wanted to do.

"Dunno. Can we go to the bottle bank?"

Forget all the new technology. Forget funfairs and theme parks. Forget the beauty of the countryside. Shoving different coloured bottles into matching recycling bins, and hearing them smash, was his idea of fun. Well, it kept him happy for 20 minutes, then we came home and he was bored again.

At Christmas, he's usually bored by 12 o'clock. The presents have been played with and discarded, there's paper all over the floor, and it's: "Dad, what can I do now? I'm bored."

Years ago, I had a friend who, as a toddler, painted the shell of Tommy, his pet tortoise, blue and yellow checks with orange spots in the middle.

"Why did you do that?" his dad asked.

"Cos I was bored."

Luckily, it was washable paint and Tommy was none the worse, but his owner ended up more bored than ever because he got grounded for a week and ordered to tidy his bedroom.

Boredom can, indeed, make children do the strangest things. Take my mate Dave, for example. He was getting ready to go out the other day and it was quite a posh affair so he was trying to make an extra effort. Instead of his usual slapdash electric shave, he decided to have a wet shave for a closer, more sophisticated finish.

That was before he went to the bathroom cupboard and discovered to his bewilderment that the bristles of his shaving brush had been mysteriously cut.

He stormed downstairs and confronted his teenage son: "I don't suppose you have any idea what's happened to my shaving brush?" he demanded.

"I did it," the boy confessed

"What do you mean, you did it?" asked his dad.

"I wanted to give it a haircut," he added, sheepishly.

It wasn't just any old haircut. It had been given 'a number one' - right down to the bone - with a pair of scissors. Consequently, a wet shave was right out of the question.

"And would you mind explaining why on earth you gave my shaving brush a haircut?" enquired the dad, bristling with anger.

"I was bored," said his son.

Fortunately, his dad doesn't own a cut-throat razor.