Empty Inner Middle

Back in the Iron Age when I was pursuing an undergraduate life with the odd bit of study thrown in, I decided to take as part of my degree, a module in computer science. The Edinburgh University Geography department had a few computers, but most were the preserve of the post-grads and profs. We underlings gave seminars using overhead projectors and typed up dissertations on cranky old machines requiring WD40 to lubricate the keys. In a moment of either illumination or total stupidity, I thought I'd enter the 21st century and find out what all the fuss was about. Several months later and too many hours in the computing suite of some forlorn 1960s concrete edifice, and I was no wiser.

Programming was, as far as I understood, all to do with the Empty Inner Middle, which had something to do with C. I struggled through for the required time and somehow scraped the required grades, never to programme a computer again - how could I when it all boiled down to an Empty Inner Middle?

Today, I revisited my Empty Inner Middle whilst walking on top of the local hills. It's the one day of the week when I get a good 7 hour tilt at writing, so try to preface it with some exercise. I can't think through plot and character development whilst exercising a demanding Jack Russell, so try instead to yomp at speed to at least make the half hour of circulatory benefit. Thoughts ramble and race alternately when totally alone, God help any psychiatrist wondering about a state of mind: (That's his third poo in three minutes, will he ever stop; isn't this beautiful; my right boot is slipping a bit, it fitted well in the shop, typical; must be a city of moles underneath this patch; that tree looks bereft, wonder how old it is, not as old as that 1,200 year old oak in Wales that fell down recently; I can't throw you another stick you flipping dog, there aren't any here; Ooh, look, there's a deer; hope offspring's exam goes well today), and so on...really rather dull. But half an hour of this empties the mind of some of the dross.

With the customary cerebral cavity in my Inner Middle rediscovered, I feel able to tackle the current chapter which shows one of the main characters having a hissy fit in front of her friends and being particularly horrible to her children. Perhaps I should find her an Empty Inner Middle too - but a strop will be more fun to write!