This part of the museum is reserved for contributions from our extramural researchers, peripatetic investigators, associate fellows, mendicant philosophers, and anyone else with too much time on their hands. The editor will undertake to include almost anything that amuses the hell out of him, within the obvious constraints of legality and good taste. We will not, for the time being, be giving each entry its own separate section, because life's too short. Any entries made here will remain in place until such time as their original authors can be assumed to have forgotten writing them, at which point they will be moved to a suitable gallery so that I can claim them as my own work.

The Editor

The following nonsense was received from Carol, an old school friend of the ever-pointless Bailey. It comes as a refreshing insight to know that he did, despite evidence to the contrary, attend school. One can only assume that it must have been very many years ago. Alas, judging the lady by her prose, she is every bit as unbalanced as he is.

A dynamic figure, he is often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. Occasionally, he treads water for three days in a row. He woos women with his sensuous and god-like trombone playing. he can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed and he cooks 30-minute brownies in 20 minutes.

He is an abstract artist, a concrete analyst and a ruthless bookie.

He is an expert in stucco, a veteran in love and an outlaw in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, he once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. He plays blue grass 'cello. He was scouted by Covent Garden and he is the subject of numerous documentaries. When he's bored, he builds large suspension bridges in his neighbours' back gardens. He enjoys urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after work, he repairs electrical appliances free of charge.

Sometimes, he will remodel railway stations on his lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. He writes award-winning operas. He manages time efficiently.

Critics world-wide swoon over his original line in corduroy evening wear. He is a private citizen, yet he receives fan mail. Last summer, he toured central Europe with a travelling centrifugal force demonstration. he shoots ten under par. His deft floral arrangements have earned him fame in international botany circles. Children and ferocious wild animals trust him. He can hurl tennis racquets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy.

He once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. He knows the exact location of every item in the supermarket. He has performed several covert operations for MI6. He sleeps once a week and when he does sleep, he sleeps in an armchair. While on holiday in Wiltshire, he successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to Robinson, and his bills are always paid.

At the weekend, to let off steam, he participates in full contact origami. He has made extraordinary four-course meals using only a Moulinex and a toaster. He breeds prize-winning clams. He has performed open heart surgery and he has spoken with Elvis. Five years ago he discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down.