One moment of excitable inhalation

Huh! You think you’re spe­cial! I can get that entirely decept­ive feel­ing of hav­ing some­thing to write.…. without the coffee!!!

May I write on your wall? Oh no, that’s some­where else, right?

Do not des­pair. I have the only proven cure for writer’s block the world has ever known. A heav­ily guarded secret that’s been in my fam­ily for gen­er­a­tions, one which I will now pass on to…

Oooh, look! A pretty brick wall! *splat*

*waves in sympathy*

(I too have been going through a bar­ren spell of late.)

Mind if I paint your wall? Much more fun watch­ing it dry… (the pain, not the wall, or you mind).

Cor, you must live some­where right posh to have a wall with no graffiti.

Don’t blame the cof­fee! Please, don’t blame the cof­fee (for your excit­ab­il­ity) and over­use of exclam­a­tion marks!!!!

This wall really has par­tic­u­larly inter­est­ing per­spect­ive lines.

It reminds me of this fam­ous title in a French satir­ical journal, years and years back, about the recent auto­bi­o­graphy of a bor­ing polit­ical per­son­al­ity: “Thirty years in a wall — the life of a brick”.

You’re wel­come.

hello we’ve synched again, I’ve been brick­walling recently too…

Bohémi­enne — Yes, but the cof­fee makes the writer’s block … So! Much! More! Exhilarating!

Ani — Um, mind the wall, dear. Oh, you didn’t. Um, does it hurt? Much?

Edvard — *waves back, whilst drowning*

Gor­don — As long as you don’t go paint­ing it any hideous colours.

Angelalala — We have posh graf­fiti spray­ers round these parts. They can spell and stuff. Amazing.

Clarissa — Have no fear. I am not blam­ing the cof­fee. I love coffee.

Chloe — Thank you for being the first per­son to exam­ine the wall so closely and, indeed, to pon­ti­fic­ate upon it. Well, apart from Ani, who just went smash­ing into it.

Peach — You have my sym­pathy, empathy and apathy. Well, no, you don’t have my apathy. We both have apathy. I think. Oh, you know what I mean …

There are no walls, only opportunities.

(Please feel free to smack me).

Smart brick wall! It made some nice com­ments about my hair and the way I dress.

Don’t blame the cof­fee for your exclam­a­tion marks — they’ve just been lurk­ing there long­ing to break free, but you’ve sup­pressed them because you’ve always told your­self you were A Proper Writer and didn’t need to use them.

But you wanted to, didn’t you? You nur­tured them in secret, and wouldn’t let them die. You whispered to them that their day would come, just as soon as you could find a plaus­ible excuse.

Well, this won’t do it all. Put them back in the box, and drown them. Go on. You’ll feel bet­ter for it. Then you can write a touch­ing post on the tra­gic demise of gra­tu­it­ous punctuation.

(And if that doesn’t work, then at least you’ve always got that handy brick wall).

Lil­li­pilli — Every wall is an oppor­tun­ity, yes. Par­tic­u­larly for a brick. And I look quite brick-like.

Miss July — I will thank the brick wall on your behalf later. I only have the bet­ter class of brick wall round here.

Melo­grana — Damn, you saw right through me.

Shush, walls have ears you know.

Can you recog­nise them?