Rate!

These days we are customarily invited to rate a plethora of things from clothes we have bought to restaurants we have visited and from our electricity suppliers to our holidays. Well, I thought it was about time we brought this rating trend into blogging. I invite you to rate the following opening to a novel I have written specially for this blogpost.

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Howard Boreham opened his curtains. They were the beige ones he had purchased at "Dunelm" ten years earlier. He seemed to recall they were reduced by 50% and that he had paid for them with his Halifax bankcard. He could still remember his old card number: 4452 9431 6000 5139. That was before he moved his current account to Santander.

Outside it was pretty gloomy. The sky above was grey. His bedroom window overlooked an abandoned factory car park where a pair of scavenging crows were pecking at some litter. On the main road, the Number 81 bus trundled by on its way to the sprawling suburb of Dore.

Howard was wearing his striped pyjamas - the ones he had inherited from his late father. He scratched his bottom and headed for the bathroom where he brushed his teeth with "Signal" toothpaste and combed his hair with the black comb. He preferred it to the red one. As it was Saturday, he did not fancy having a shower.

Back in the bedroom, he got dressed. He picked his favourite grey polo shirt, his black "Lee" jeans, black socks and his "Umbro" trainers. Then he looked in the wardrobe mirror and smiled approvingly at himself before heading downstairs for his breakfast. 

As usual, he ate a bowl of "Bran Flakes" and drank a cup of weak tea before heading out to the street. It was bound to be another action-packed day in the life of Howard Boreham.

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So yes. Now it's time to rate this story opening using the Yorkshire Pudding scale of boredom. Where would you place it with "0" meaning not boring at all and in fact  I would very much like to read on to "10" meaning exceptionally boring and I was pretty much bored to tears.