Mr L Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn't know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr L Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.

Ah, this is obviously some strange usage of the word 'safe' that I wasn't previously aware of.

Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.

The light was only just visible - except of course that there was no one to see, no witnesses, not this time, but it was nevertheless a light.

Words used carelessly, as if they did not matter in any serious way, often allowed otherwise well-guarded truths to seep through.

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.

Time affords us the ability to blame past errors on others while whole heartedly pronouncing our futures successes.