Tim Key: I have nothing to say. I wonder if I can spin that out into a column...

(Ping Zhu)

I'm running out of things to write about in this column. I've been knocking it out for two years now and I'm starting to notice that the good ideas, the real zingers, are becoming harder and harder to come by.

Any columnist will tell you that sometimes the well runs dry. Sure, there are weeks where you'll notice something on a bus, or similar, that you can spin out for 700 words. But there are also weeks when you have nothing. Weeks when, no matter how hard you slap your forehead, nothing will come.

I'm in that kind of territory this morning. Deadline past, stomach full of biscuits, classical music bubbling away in the background, my face contorted, my lips mouthing the words, "Don't over-think it" and "Come on man, anything'll do at this stage". I split my time between staying abreast of developments on Facebook and occasionally spinning round and round in my chair, hunting for inspiration in my study. But each time my revolutions exhaust themselves, I find myself back at square one. Staring at the same screen, with the same amount of ideas. Nil. I reach into my tin; hoick out another fig roll.

The real point here is that I've left it too late. Any columnist worth any salt knows that your column really ought to be written before you even approach your keyboard. Like a good penalty taker, you should know which way you're gonna hit the ball before you start your run-up. Inspiration should have struck during the week. Some event or scenario should have stopped you in your tracks, got your juices flowing. After that it should have been incubating, swilling around in your head until, ultimately, you find half an hour to crank it out and email it to someone who can tidy up the spelling. Another spin on the chair; another powerful slap on the bonce; another FR. Nope. Still nothing.

These days, a lot of columnists waddle around with a little notepad in their pocket for jotting down their thoughts. I've seen them doing it. Squinting at situations, pursing their lips, seeing if there's "anything there". I won't go as far as lugging a pad around, but I will often have half an eye out. While the other one-and-a-half eyes are focusing on the practicalities of life – eating things, making friends, crossing roads, etc – this curious half will dart about looking for bits and pieces that could potentially get the job done columnwise. I'll glimpse a man up a ladder, for example, and I'll furrow the brow. Could this be a column? I'll will him to fall, since that would be more interesting. Or I'll pray that he abuses me, perhaps write a sympathetic piece about that. But sometimes the man just stays up the ladder. And there's not much you can write about that.

Having a lack of starting points for a column is enough to make a man take stock. When you can't think of something interesting, you begin to wonder whether it's because your life is, in and of itself, uninteresting. Is my lifestyle less adventurous these days? Or have I simply become less observant? It makes me think I should recharge. Spend some time on another continent. Escape to South America, perhaps. Take the laptop. Skulk around the cafés of Caracas, watching the bustle. Really shove a stick of dynamite up my column. Or maybe I should just jack it in all together. Try and eke out a living on the after-dinner circuit.

Well that's good news, at least: I've hit my wordcount. My poor belly is swollen. There are about 15 biscuits in there, plus another one working it's way through my pipes and one more in my mouth. All as a result of pondering. I'll email this to my editor, but I think I'll also suggest I pop in to discuss my future. I need to tell him it straight. If I don't start witnessing some interesting day-to-day activities soon, I think it might be time for me to move on. Give someone else a go.