The well has run dry, my friends. I’m facing the horrible fact that I have no new ideas or any clever way of re-working a few old familiar ones into something entertaining and amusing. Writer’s block? I doubt it should be dignified with so lofty a title. More like a back eddy in the stream-of-consciousness.
I’ve been asked how I come up with ideas for my newspaper column. The fact is I don’t. They usually find me, in the world around me, from bits of conversations with friends, family and strangers overheard in passing. Sometimes it’s the radio. Sometimes it’s the tv. Like a penny, these bits fall into the hopper, some whirring, clanking, a few lights blink on and off as a clock-work mannequin dressed to look like a gypsy fortune teller bobs over painted cards. Click and here you go, a nice little plot line, story idea or rant, pops out of the slot all ready to go.
What’s the problem? I don’t know. I guess it’s one of the weeks where I just don’t feel particularly funny or insightful. A time when I wonder why anyone would want to know what’s going on underneath all that hair – perhaps a visit to my hair dresser would have helped. Probabaly not.