Think! There are
thousands of unwritten books out there. All you have to do is pick one. Any
one! It could be the one for kids, about the ponderous goat who finds a
questionably shaped carrot, but decides to befriend it anyway because that
would teach the children to be accepting of others (and the grown ups could laugh at the
pictures). Or it could be the dark and intense thriller - the blind spy known
only as ‘The Mole’, trapped in a cult-like covenant behind enemy lines. Two
lovers meeting on a zeppelin ride before the whole affair is cut tragically
short by some ill-fated technical fault and their story is lost to the annals
of history. Just pick one!
Or…you
could make a sandwich. Yes. Definitely the best remedy for a mental block.
Sandwiches are relaxing. Almost musical. The warm, mellow tones of the peanut
butter; the zangy brass stabs of the pickles; the short, satisfying poppy
percussion hits of the sweetcorn; the overpowering and dissonant string
crescendo of some properly mature cheddar and, holding it all together like
culinary and musical glue, the mayonnaise bass line. All on a stage made of
bread. Ah yes…sandwich jazz. Mmmm.
(Approximately
twenty hours later, Dail was at the house of a slightly eccentric friend, when
the jazz sandwich made a casual reappearance. This, however, required the use
of the see-through/glittery toilet seat which, in Dail's honest opinion, was
completely lacking in taste and not conducive to sitting on and having a
pleasurable, private moment. Or movement. Or both.)
A sandwich for my thoughts. Ok, how's about
this one, bread gods: a
book on how to do nothing. Become something of an expert in that. Wait...no.
The reviewers would be all over it like wasps on bbq chicken.
"What Mr Dail has done here in his book "7 Steps To Doing Nothing", rather than usefully inform you how to do nothing, is to merely suggest (over the course of 634 pages) several different and debatably interesting ways in which to sleep, sit, prepare rudimentary snacks and wander about aimlessly, with only occasional references to self scratching. In order to truly do nothing one would have to be dead (depending entirely upon your views of the afterlife and its relative existence). Is Mr Dail then encouraging suicide and possibly even murder amongst his readers, whilst at the same time trying to incite some kind of religious or philosophical war? How dare he. This critic for one won't stand for it (or sit, as he so vilely suggests). I say we find out where this man lives and exert some vigilante justice in retaliation for this heinous attempt at disturbing the peace. The swine." ** - The Times Literary Supplement.
Swine? Swine?! Bastards. I'll have
the last laugh because I'm not even going to write that book. Ha! Try poking
holes in something that doesn't even exist. Except it's possible to do that
with some things...like school toilet paper. That pretty much doesn't exist,
even when it does.
