Well. I don’t know quite what happened this week. One early night seemed to snowball into no-writing-getting-done-ever, and the lack of progress seemed to snowball into quick-write-whatever-you-can-anything-anything-will-do.
That would at least explain this small busking rap:
Yeah, I get the boys together
Say, Dog, we gotsta earn.
Got ta stay on my hustle
So my kids getsta learn.
Schoolin’ ain’t cheap,
Yo, books don’t grow on trees
An’ my wife says she’ll leave me
If I can’t pay dem fees.
I need that busker money
I need that busker money, dude
Pay me busker money
I’m looking very specifically at you, sir.
Though perhaps not this defence of Comic Sans…
A large poster had been tacked onto the little wooden welcome sign on the dock. It didn’t have any pictures – an amateur mistake when designing a grab-your-attention poster; some starbursts and word-art in bright rainbow colours would have really made it pop.
It only had some – rather drab – words in black:
At the bottom, in a font as drab as the choice of colour (were they really trying to send a message with Times New Roman? Yawnsville! Had they never heard of Comic Sans?), it said: ‘Apply at the palace’. An arrow pointed beyond the dock, up a hill.