The fallacy of Highland Park

When one is imitating heroes, it is probably better to use the pen that Rankin writes with rather than drink the whisky that Rebus does.

1700 words in two gruelling days. None of it for the novel. None of it accredited. But still, satisfying in its own way. I have added another piece of kit to the wishlist – some noise cancelling headphones. It’s quite comforting to hear nothing but your own breathing. Except when you have to hear yourself ask some comedy questions in an interview. I have a particular nasal drone on mic that I particularly hate. Anyhoo, highlight today was the re-re-wind of me asking one of my top boffin colleagues…. ‘so [pause] um. Is [that] a good thing or a bad thing?’

Sigh. Marvin, me.

I also entertained my chums over at Fetcheveryone with a superb demonstration as to why coffee should also be rationed on the NHS. A sample below:

To be sung in either a Skol Skol Skol style or (preferably) running around a meeting room like a demented bee. If you don't look like Buster Bloodvessel you're not doing it right.

This is Sparta!
Running is Sparta!
Bees is Sparta!
Demented Bees is Sparta!
Doing it right is Sparta!
Fetching is Sparta!
Flipcharts is Sparta!
Marker pens is Sparta!
Action Points is Sparta!
To be or not to be!
My mistake
Elvis is Sparta!
Dracula is Sparta!
Intervals is Sparta!
#8 is Sparta!
Rock is Sparta!
Challenge Anneka is Sparta!
Basil Brush is Sparta!
I've drunk too much coffee
Is Sparta

Sparta is as Sparta does
You don't know what is in a box of chocolates unless you open it

Indecision is Sparta!
Uncertainty is Sparta!
Sugarcubes is Sparta!
Paxman is Sparta!

No. Seriously. He. Is. Sparta.

[fx:thud] is Sparta!
Aww! is Sparta!

Blogging is Sparta!
Deadlines is Sparta!

Help me. Is Sparta!
Running out of Sparta!
No twoforone on Sparta!
Seriously. It's running out.
Is Sparta!





Sparta. Give. Me. Strength.

See? And that was before the Highland Park. La. And indeed. La.

Oh yes. I also realised today that most of my. New. Concatenated style. Has a name. It’s blank verse. Poorly punctuated. Blank verse. Thirty five (nearly thirty six) fucking years old and I’m a fucking poet. Bollocks to that.

Good night.

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