Let's be incoherent. It's still 2016.
By incoherent I mean trying to bung everything I can remember having thought in the last twelve hours into one post, to save time. One day I will actually do this properly, you know, plan what I'm going to say, put the coloured clothes in one basket and Tirant Lo Blanc in another, and all of that. First, my treacherous pulse rate and shaky hands: damn and tarnation. Today a Shoveaceous Cult member in a natty suit and a rather dog-eared Cassandra-type woman with a Puritan face came visiting. Apparently they wanted to flog us a "reading program" for a special low, low reduced price of one and a half thousand bucks. For that you get one or two hours a week of "training" for a year, at the end of which they guarantee (money back!) that you will read 2,000 words per minute with a hundred per cent testable recall rate. Since they themselves administer said "test" I don't see how they could fail, really: I mean, if I gave one of my students the word ...