Late Scribbles.

I often wonder whether the clever people at YouTube have the facility to record every instance of somebody pressing the Sound Off button when the initial, ludicrously incongruous ad assails their reluctant senses, and how often people press the Skip Ad button as soon as it appears. And if they do have that facility, do they make the results known to their advertisers? Or is this just my cynical loner gene showing itself?

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I can smell the scent of jasmine upstairs in my house again tonight. Where does it come from? Where does it go? One of my short stories – The Visitor – features that very phenomenon. In the story it transpires that the source of the scent is the butterfly deva come to take the protagonist for a ride in return for a place to hibernate over the winter. That’s a rather pleasanter prospect than the alternative: that there’s something wrong with my brain, rather like the David Niven character smelling fried onions in the film A Matter of Life and Death. Mind you, he did get the girl in the end.