In Place of Self-Rebuke.

I was in a charity shop today where the piped music was not exactly to my taste. I mean, Ave Maria sung by a pretty average tenor with a sugary orchestral accompaniment is a bit close to the knuckle, right? So I thought of asking the woman behind the counter: ‘Who on earth chooses your music?’

And then I remembered that it was the Mind charity shop. Mind is a charity which works to help those with mental health difficulties, and for which I have every respect, and yet I couldn’t help wanting to add: ‘Is it one of the loonies?’

Well, such a thought is just about as non-PC as you can get, isn’t it? It’s the sort of thing which should generate a sizeable amount of shame and the donning of sackcloth and ashes. Ah, but here’s the rub:

As a writer you don’t have to. Writers can take every unwholesome thought and personality trait and apply them to some future character better suited to own them. It’s what we do (and pretend in the process that they come from external observation, not the internal variety.)

So that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.