Morning’s can get away from you—been there? Most mornings here!
9.30 am. No post finished. I’m still writing to order; it’s good, and less bad. The plan was always to have three or four banked—generic but relevant to a season, news cycles, sporting events. Wait a minute. Thought so. There are 77 posts in drafts, some just started, others percolating, and many sat patiently waiting for the final brush stroke. Wait, that’s what a draft should be, right—always a draft until it’s not? Just wishing to see the light of day—I’ll be with you soon, dear draft. Your calling is important to me. We read every draft.
9.30 am. Yep, I took a minute to draw inspiration from somewhere. Wiki Roulette had spun five times and turned up nothing—it’s a game of chance, heavily weighted in favour of the house. Peakey’s flying to Zimbabwe today with the Australian ODI squad, then on to South Africa. So what? He’s old news now. Well, not really; he turns 20 on Friday—Castles and Madisons for him! Happy Birthday for then, Sneak.
Father’s Day Sunday isn’t Father’s Day in the U.S.—he gets a pass—not worth a mention—Ella carried the torch. Onya Koog.
10.15 am. Still nothing. Deadline 10.30 am.
There, hit it: 210 words about nothing. Nowt. Squiddly. Doughnuts (Donuts)—oh, Arffy, sorry ‘bout the no doughnuts—my bad. Tommies are good for you, ‘spesh with heaps of salt. Salted or unsalted.
The message: Take a minute when you need to; you never know where it will take you. Like this, likely nowhere. Tomorrow will be serious—promise.
Nick
10.29 am.
