The Tale of the Cereal Blogger

Barry Trotter, junior reporter at the Bogshire Herald, had what could charitably be described as “a zeal for news” and less charitably as “the manic intensity of a caffeinated meerkat.” Armed with a notepad, an over-sharpened HB pencil, and the lingering odour of ambition, Barry would pursue any lead that didn’t actively involve mud, livestock, or Mr Grimshaw’s annual protest about the council’s refusal to install heated benches in the bus shelter.

So when local pub oracle Billy Bodger leaned across the bar one Thursday night and said, “You heard about the cereal blogger, then?”, Barry’s pupils dilated like a tabloid editor spotting the word “scandal” in a parish newsletter.

“Cereal? Blogger? As in cornflakes and Wi-Fi?” Barry stammered.

“Writes about breakfast every day,” Billy nodded, sloshing ale on his corduroys for emphasis. “Every morning. One blog post. About cereal. And nothing else.”

Barry blinked. “And people read it?”

“Thousands!”

“Thousands?”

“Maybe hundreds. Definitely his auntie.”

Billy, it transpired, was both a local blogger and a man riddled with envy. His own blog, Bogshire Bafflement, had attracted a loyal readership of three: his mother, his cat (who frequently walked on the keyboard and accidentally ‘liked’ posts), and an AI bot named Kevin who’d been following him since 2017 and occasionally left cryptic comments about spaghetti.

But Si Sprocket, the mythical blogger in question, was different. Billy claimed Si wrote daily entries about the texture, emotional tone, and philosophical implications of his breakfast cereal. One post had allegedly gone viral after he compared Shreddies to an existential crisis wrapped in grid-paper.

Barry, convinced this was his ticket to journalistic immortality (or at least a byline above the fold), arranged an interview.

The next morning, he arrived at Sprocket’s semi-detached bungalow with a sense of purpose and half a packet of Rich Teas. The door creaked open to reveal a man in a dressing gown patterned with tiny spoons. Si Sprocket.

“Come in,” Si said cheerily. “Watch out for the granola.”

The hallway floor was inexplicably sticky. Barry chose not to ask.

They sat in a kitchen wallpapered with vintage cereal boxes. Barry was fairly sure one of them blinked.

Si handed over a mug of coffee and perched on a barstool with the gravitas of a man about to reveal the meaning of life, or at least why Rice Krispies made him cry.

Barry cleared his throat. “So, Si, I have to ask—when did you start writing about breakfast cereal?”

Si furrowed his brow. “Breakfast cereal?”

“Yes,” Barry said, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “The daily cereal blog?”

Si paused. “Oh. Oh! I think there’s been a bit of a mix-up. I write a serial blog. As in, I post every day. About life. Small things. The way the light hits the bins. The existential panic of a dentist appointment.”

Barry looked confused. “But Billy said it was all about cornflakes.”

“Billy?” Si sighed. “Right. That explains it.”

What followed was ninety-seven minutes of a truly bewildering conversation in which Barry, determined to get his cereal scoop, repeatedly asked questions like, “Would you say you favour granola over muesli philosophically?” while Si tried to talk about the art of noticing the ordinary.

Si spoke earnestly about finding poetry in bin day, drama in dog walkers, and why the condensation on a bus window could be more moving than a five-act play. Barry countered with a follow-up about Rice Krispies and symbolism.

Eventually, Si gave up and offered Barry a bowl of cereal just to keep him quiet.

Barry left the house with four pages of unusable notes, mild lactose intolerance, and a headline he was unsure made sense: “The Serial Life of the Cereal Blogger: Is It All Just Flakes?”

The article went locally viral, meaning it was shared fifteen times on Facebook and misquoted by Mr Grimshaw at the next Parish Council meeting.

Billy Bodger, delighted with the chaos he had caused, posted smugly on his own blog under the title: “Maltreated by Muesli: A Confession”, but still had only one comment (from Kevin the Bot, which simply read, “So say we all.”)

Meanwhile, Si Sprocket continued to write beautiful little posts about small things that made life bearable, baffling, and brilliant—proving that some people really do read blogs not for the cereal, but for the soul.