Seven Days

OK Seven Days, if you’re interested, was my first novel.  It had seven chapters and the content went like this:


Woman finds herself in a nuclear bunker following a nuclear holocaust.  Explores bunker.  Waits for others to come.


Nobody comes.   To keep from going mad, she starts to write a diary.  Since she has no present and probably no future, she writes about the past.  On Tuesday she remembers her early childhood.


She remembers her adolescence


First love


Crisis.  Loss of love, rejection.  Suicide attempt.  (any connection with Good Friday is entirely intentional)


Ah!  here’s where we find out what’s really going on.  There hasn’t been a holocaust at all.  The whole thing is set in the future and here’s where the plot twist comes in that explains how she came to be there in the first place.


Realisation.  She comes out of the bunker.

I think it’s ready for rewriting.  I can see a lot more possibilities in it now.  Maybe I’ll present the idea to a publisher.  That’s the best way to do these things, I’m told.

Going to the Martyrs today.  We think it’s probably the place to be.  I like Trinity but I think maybe the guy’s sermon last week was a sign.

Kirk out

Deeper and crisper and even better…

…or should that be batter? I was thinking about the word “eke” this morning, or rather the word was floating around my mind when I awoke.  Who know how these things happen?  I daresay there are, as with the Pan-galactic Gargle-Blaster, organisations which exist to help you rehabilitate

(perhaps the Chaucer Recovery Society?)  Anyway, the word eke used to mean “also”:

When Zephyrus eke with his swete brethe

inspired hath in every holt and hethe

the tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

hath in the Ram his halve-corse y-runne

I think I’ve got the spelling sufficiently wrong.  That’s from The Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.  But nowadays, “eke” means “to stretch out to it’s furthest limit”, as in: “Can we eke out the bread for another day?”  (to which the answer is always, “I just ate the last slice”).

To which the response is:


There used to be a band called “Eek a mouse”.  I don’t remember anything about them apart from the name.  I suspect they weren’t very big.

That’s enough!  Or too much, as Blake would have said.  Damn his braces.

Going to the chalet tomorrow.  After which, this blog will be silent for a while.

Thank god, you think.

Kirk out.

Well, nobody’s forcing you to read it!  Go on, bugger off!

That’s it!  Keep walking!

Damn.  They left.

Ah well.