"When?" asked the red beetle.
"I don't know," responded Sam. The beetle shook its head and chittered, waving its forelegs wildly.
"You can't just ask a question that only consists of a question word and nothing else," Sam clarified, exasperated. "I've been waiting for access to this tower for the past forty-five minutes, and that's all you have to say to me?"
"If you don't want to play by the rules, that's fine," grunted a grimy-looking man in the queue behind him, "but if that's the case you can go somewhere else. Some of us actually want to get inside, you know."
"Aye," added a hunched woman. "There's an electrical storm coming." She pointed to the sky, where roiling clouds were hastening in their direction, a corona of energy playing around them. "If we get caught in that, we're toast. I don't want to be toast." She shuddered.
Sam sighed. "Tell me the answer and I'll go in and get out of your way."
The woman looked at him pityingly. "It doesn't work like that, love. It's your answer. I can't answer for you - it has to come from inside." The beetle whirred approvingly.
"But I don't know," Sam reiterated.
"Then no entry for you, my lad," the man said firmly. "Now run along and get out of our way."
Sam spluttered. "But what about the storm?"
"You might be safe in the forest," replied the old woman, lifting a wizened finger and pointing in the direction of a wall of towering trees against which the cloudfront was sure to break.
"Fine," Sam muttered resignedly. "Thanks, I suppose." Picking up his bags, he began trudging in the direction of the forest.
Hello. I am the Blogger. You are the Blogged.
That's right. After millennia of inactivity the indomitable machine that is George L. Walkden has unexpectedly whirred into activity, cogs creaking and grinding. I had my last exam today, after which I went to Starbucks and got bought a hot chocolate and a muffin. David and Fi and Jen are nice. Life is good, but timewasting isn't what it used to be, as I'm not really wasting anything any more. Instead I'm being constructive and blogging.
Expect neither intelligent criticism nor cutting analysis of current events on this blog. I live in the Cambridge bubble and don't give a monkey's about the outside world except insofar as it directly concerns me, and even then I'm often unashamedly indifferent.
Maybe I'll have something other than tuna mayonnaise to eat for lunch in the near future, but I do like tuna mayonnaise.