A what-if!

And getting into a bit of mental arithmetic at the same time.

Introducing Harley, my daughter.

Or so, by inference, reckoned Frederick Nietzsche.

His elders told him not to. But one morning he got up before dawn and climbed it anyway. Partly because the oldies told him not to. But also because telling a kid to not climb the only thing climbable inside a hundred miles of flat, boring nothing ... well that’s just cruelty, isn’t it?

And it’s all happening on a steam train hurtling down the side of a mountain far too fast. And it’s shaking and rattling and bits are falling off it. And oh no, there’s no driver! Or so suggests my wife’s uncle.

On the benefits of keeping yourself neutral and bland in public.