The Dullest Blog: comedy ramblings to inspire the most tedious minute of your week

No question that cannot be answered. How did we cope without it? Kids nowadays will grow up never knowing a world where people could not google all over each other and do emails at each other, let alone get our Twitters out on the bus.

I recalled my childhood, the year was 1990. I was mourning the loss of Roald Dahl, a man I was utterly convinced would one day come to collect me from my mundane existence and take me to live in a massive Lychee. Thatcher stepped down from the post of Adolf Hitler, and musical expression reached radical new heights, as Vanilla Ice and M.C. Hammer proved to the world that rap could stand shoulder to shoulder with any symphony. I needed the answer to a question. I can't remember the exact question, but I was big into birds at that point, so it may have been 'why does my brother laugh when I ask him if he wants to see my tits?'

I picked up the phone and dialed a number. The number slid off my fingers instinctively, Two rings, and the phone was answered, with a warmly familiar exhalation of cigarette smoke, and a very posh 'Hello?' My Nan was doing her phone voice. Everyone from the north west of England has one. It is very important. What if the Queen or the Government were to call unexpectedly one day? Can't have them thinking we are Northern. Always answer with the phone voice. I asked the question and it was answered.

That's what we did before the Internet. We phoned our Nans. Different Nans had different specialties. Mine was a goldmine of facts and figures. Like a prototype Wikipedia, but one that would always ask you what you had for your tea. That's a fundamental flaw with Wikipedia. It doesn't care how you are doing at school, it doesn't get all dressed up for your birthday, and it couldn't make a spud pie to save its life.

Nowadays millions of unused Nans languish at home. They still have the knowledge in abundance, and can regularly be seen pumping it into Eggheads or Countdown. Such a powerful resource, wasted. If only there were some way to link our Nans together in a network. Surely the processing power of our elders could outstrip anything Gates or Jobs could cobble together? (although it is worth noting we may still suffer similar problems with viruses).

If you are lucky enough to have a Nan at your disposal, pick up the phone and ask her a question.