30 September 2005

I gave a talk recently to an audience of teachers, parents, and information technology consultants (some of them still prefer to be called librarians). When I'd finished, one of them asked me a question.

'What would you be doing right now,' she said, 'if I you weren't standing here in front of us pontificating?' (She didn't actually say pontificating, but I could see in her eyes that's what she meant. Either that or perspiring.)

I was able to give her a short and simple answer.

'I'd be sitting at my desk,' I said, 'pretending to be a misunderstood young nose germ who's been sent out of his nostril for being silly and who's just made the gobsmacking and life-changing discovery that there's another nostril next door.'

I don't think that was the answer she was expecting, but she took it well. At morning tea she didn't flinch when I handed her the sugar, and at no stage did she wipe the spoon on her hanky or throw up.

I reckon I'm very lucky to have the job I've got. There aren't many people who can spend entire working days inside a nostril and still be accepted in adult society. Just nose surgeons and authors, basically, and even nose surgeons can have problems if they forget and go out with the mask on.

The book that has taken me on this unexpected nasal adventure is called Aristotle's Nostril, and it's being printed right now. It's coming out late November, when I hope some newspapers will choose it as their pick of the week.

Meanwhile, I'm off to the UK to visit schools in London, Brighton, Eastbourne, York, Louth and Caerphilly. And to talk at the Polka Theatre in Wimbledon (details in the previous G'day).

Until then, oo-roo and happy reading,

30 September 2005