As they always used to say on Monty Python.
I wrote the opening paragraph of my non-"Doctor Who" story last night (working title: Improbable Journeys) and this is it:
The one thing that Danny's history books never really made clear was the smell of the past. It was something he always noticed on his improbable journeys; that somehow the past smelled different. Right now his nose was full of the smell of mud, blood and death. It hadn't stopped raining for the last three days according to Hodges and the mud was so thick that men frequently pulled a foot out of it to find they'd left their boot behind. The duckboards were supposed to help but they just couldn't compete; half an hour after being laid down, they were sinking into the grey morass. Danny had only arrived three hours ago, but he felt as if he'd been struggling through the mud for three days too.
What do you think ?
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In other writing news, I've written my Doctor Who poem that Elaine challenged me to write, but I'm totally convinced it's too bad to post...