A Fryday About Nothing

Occasionally Fryday is torn between its self-imposed responsibility to deliver a new piece every Friday and the demands on its time from other projects. More rarely, Fryday simply wakes with nothing to say and, because nothing is planned or written before Friday, time soon runs out to write anything at all.

Such is the case today.

I woke with nothing to say. I can fall back on Trump, as indeed many would like to do. But, I covered him last week and I detect that most of us are all a bit trumped out, so we need a break. I could talk about the Port Hills fires, but they have been well and truly—and rightly—canvassed; the horror of the fires and their impact is apparent for all to see. 

There are of course, always the Fryday staples: Hamilton, Whetu, useless objects, and the various correspondents, such as Cecil C. Sackrider, Fryday employs around the world. But, I can’t think of a more useless object than Donald Trump, and all my correspondents seem to be busy. Fryday can be a very lonely place when not populated by these people.

So, there is nothing to galvanize my thoughts on this day and, yes, as predicted, I am running out of time.

Perhaps I need a change of scene and a change of pace. A journalist acquaintance tells me that next week he is off to the Cook Islands to do a travel piece. Lucky bugger. Travelling and being paid for it. That’s perhaps what I need. I read an article this week on the slowly developing North Korean tourism industry. It is apparently tightly controlled, but it is there. I wouldn’t mind trying that. However, my preferred destination is, and after once visiting it will always be, Paris. That is where I would like to go next. And if North Korean President for Life Kim Jong-un is affronted by that then he has at his disposal (pun intended) several demonstrable mitigation options. Apparently, poison being one.

So, as I look at the clock above my desk, I see that it is 6:50 a.m. NZT (2:20 a.m. in Pyongyang, so I won’t wake Him) and I still haven’t written a word on Fryday. 

That means, there will be no Fryday this week. I have simply run out of time to write anything.

And if you are wondering why I have taken 399 words to reach that conclusion, just put it down to Fryday’s attempt at delivering “fake news”. According to Mr Trump, apparently everybody’s doing it.

Job done.

Have a good weekend.