This was supposed to be yesterday. I was sitting on the Cardiff/London train, supposedly about to write this very column, and realising something quite terrible. My head was entirely empty. A vast echoing void. Bigger on the inside, but with nothing in it. You could drop a pebble in my brain and wait for an hour to hear it land. No actually, you couldn't - that would be aggressive and unhelpful, so keep your damn pebbles to yourself.
Steven MoffatAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: November 18, 1961
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Peter tucked the glasses into the front pocket of Jordan’s jacket. “I kind of like knowing you’re
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Jordan nodded. He walked out of the holding cell and said good-bye to the deputies. Then he
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