When Blackburn Rovers won the Premiership in 1995, a reporter asked Alan Shearer what he’d be doing to celebrate. “I’m going home to creosote the fence,” replied Shearer. Nobody spotted it then, but the former England captain was 10 years ahead of his time. It’s taken that long for the world to catch up and discover the joys of being slightly dull.

Glamour and excitement is old hat. No, I’d go further. It’s a particularly unfashionable old hat that ought to have gone to the charity shop long ago. Do we care if Wayne Rooney’s girlfriend has been shopping? No, we do not. Do we lie awake at night worrying how Geri Halliwell will shift that last troublesome bit of weight? Hardly. Do you know, many of us don’t even care which one is Ant and which one is Dec? So sit back quietly in that agreeably familiar comfy chair, treat yourself to a pot of weakish tea, and let me put the case for the rise of the dull man.

First, let’s look at the evidence presented by University Challenge: The Professionals. On one side in a recent contest were the sharp-suited, go-getting representatives of the Financial Times. They were shown leaning over laptops in their modern offices and getting the feel of the markets, or whatever it is they do at the Financial Times.

On the other side was The Idler magazine, which is so dedicated to the contemplative life that it’s published only twice a year. Members of its team were filmed sitting in armchairs and taking life easy. Yet The Idler whopped the FT hollow, leading at one stage by 100 points.

A survey of 10,000 people around the world recently asked for one word that would describe Britain. And back came the answer: predictable. Everybody likes us — we were named fourth best country — but what everybody likes about us is that we’re ever so slightly dull. They know what to expect.

How they must have cheered at the Dull Men’s club, an internet phenomenon that is getting more than 50,000 hits per day. It doesn’t advertise and it doesn’t go in for flashy marketing gimmicks: dull men just seem somehow to find their way there. And what do they do when they arrive? They find, among other things, a list of luggage carousels at 362 airports and the news that 45% of these travel anticlockwise, 29% go clockwise, while the rest can go either way.

And if you think that’s unexciting, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Dullmen.com also lists 458 dull postcards, a guide to traffic signs of the world, UK electricity pylon of the month, and a guide to the various different ways of tying your shoelaces. Oh, and there is a joke: how many dull men does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: one.

“There is a backlash against cool and glamorous,” said Lee Carlson, the retired tax lawyer who founded the Dull Men’s club. “People I know who go to opening nights and parties actually prefer to spend time at home with their families doing quite mundane things.”

Such men would never been seen dead in a sarong and feel no need for moisturiser or other male beauty products. At a nightclub, they would be refused entry. Instead, they know instinctively where to put a washer and what to do with a can of WD-40. And we are the future.

Did I say “we”? I meant, of course, “they”.

The true dull man is predictable, reliable, loveable, safe, and good in a crisis. He doesn’t say much because he doesn’t really have much to say. This distinguishes him from the bore, who has nothing to say but says it anyway.

“Dull men accept their dullness,” says Carlson, who founded the club while sitting at the bar of the New York Athletic club. Flicking through the club magazine, he realised there were societies for club members who skied, played tennis or indulged in other sporting activities but no society for club members who did nothing in particular. So he founded one.

Carlson, who is from the spectacularly dreary US state of Nebraska, now spends half of the year living in Hampshire and says that the British have truly embraced the idea of dull. Who else would enjoy a sport like Test cricket, where fans sit through five days — if they’re lucky — to enjoy the exciting bit at the end. Which other country could match our enthusiasm for trainspotting, planespotting, or jotting down vehicle numbers? Above all, let’s not forget that we are the nation that invented golf.

Britain has also produced some of the world’s greatest dull icons: mild-mannered Clement Attlee, Stanley Baldwin, Alistair Darling, Steve “Interesting” Davis and Alan “Creosote” Shearer. John Major was inducted into the Dull Men’s club hall of fame only to be expelled after having an exciting affair with Edwina Currie.

Don’t just take my word for this. Look at the case of Tommy Lee, the wild and glamorous heavy metal drummer who was once married to Pamela Anderson. Even he is tired of the high life. “Over the years free sex gets boring,” he said in a recent interview. “I’m looking forward to the end of our world tour. I’ll sit in my Japanese garden, watching my koi carp.”

And if that gets too thrilling, he can always creosote the fence.

Jeremy Clarkson is away