Try this:
In a small, poor and seldom visited South American country, an incomplete git, of discreetly decrepit middle age, has the good fortune to land a job teaching English in a state university with an extensive, attractively wooded campus, inhabited by iguanas, moths and finches. Some years later, he is sitting in the car (a Chevy Aveo) at 7 a.m., half an hour before his first class of the day, in an empty car park under the hazy early morning sunshine, picking his nose, cursing the locked door of the Gents' Toilets, and wondering, for the thousandth time, what to do with all these Ideas . Having Ideas has always been his dominant vice. If the ideas were any good, he would probably not regard having them as a vice, but instead as something of a gift; if all of them were self-evidently bad, then they would presumably not have become a vice in the first place. The trouble with his Ideas is that they are none of them clearly one or the other. For most of hi...