Indigestion - In More Ways Than One
So we went to the pub and had a good old chat about all sorts of stuff. Inevitably the subject of the new show came up and I aired some doubts about the new title. My wife agreed, and so now Clockwork Toy Box is also in the bin. After the pub we called in at Zaytoon, a Persian kebab house in Temple Bar. They do very nice kebabs and, like a fool, I bought one. If there's one lesson life has continually tried to teach me, it's 'don't eat kebabs before you go to bed'. When you're a young man, you can eat just about anything at any time of the day; but the more mature stomach is more discerning in what it's prepared to digest. I've spent most of the night tossing and turning and gulping down Milk of Magnesia.
And it's not just my stomach that's been working overtime; my brain keeps throwing words together and coming up with myriad name possibilities for the new show. It's a nightmare; it reminds me of when I was in bands in my youth and we'd spend hours trying to come up with a name for whatever new band we were forming; no sooner would one person suggest a name than another band member would shoot it down. This time however, I'm both the suggester and the shooter. Now, at five a.m., after three hours of raging insomnia, my brain is littered with the blasted debris of about two thousand possible show names. It's word carnage; all smouldering adjectives and buckshot blasted nouns. What I should really do is call it something simple, something light and unfettered, something with only one possible meaning. Something like, 'Mike Bennett's Other Podcast'. Hmmm, I'll think about it... probably for the remainder of the night and most of the day.
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