Hesitantly, reluctantly, Helen slipped out of a sling, tight-waisted waspy and stood naked in the moonlight before me. Somewhere a clock chimed three. An owl hooted in the nearby copse. No wind stirred the casement window. She stood in the pale, translucent light on the Persian carpet. A minute passed. Then another. Then, another minute. Then ... another minute passed. Then another minute passed. And another. A further minute passed quickly, followed by another minute, when suddenly, a different minute passed, followed by another different minute. And another. And yet another further different minute. A minute passed. I glanced at my watch. It was a minute past. This was it. A minute passed. After a moment, another minute passed. I waited a minute while a minute passed quickly past. And then, a minute which seemed to last an hour but was only a minute ... passed.
Announcer: That was "A Minute Passed", by John Finlissom. You can hear Episode Nine of "A Minute Passsed" tomorrow night at a minute past.
And now for something completely different ...
I wish you peace and happiness in 2006. Every minute of 2006.