'And then they reach this point and they have to make a choice between The History of Rope or String Theory, which itself splices off into Twine of the Times. If they do all three and complete the questionnaire at the end then they get one third off a returning out of season ticket.'
Captain Bill paused and looked at Horace.
'I came here to write poetry,' Horace replied.
'Right,' Captain Bill said. 'Right..................you weren't just very late for my talk?'
'No!'
'Right...............................................................how's it going then?'
'What?'
'The old poetry.'
'It isn't!'
'Right.'
'I need to be alone.'
'Right.'
'So,' Horace began, 'if you could just...'
'Which bit are you having trouble with?'
'Sorry?'
'Which bit of the poem? Is it the punchline?'
'Poems don't have punchlines,' Horace explained.
'Are, well, that could be a problem in itself,' Captain Bill replied. 'People would be more likely to remember your poem if it makes them laugh, it's good for morale. I remember at Captain School they were very big on morale. The real trick is to know your crew. Empathy! Identify their needs. Find out what they want.'
'I want to be alone.'
'Perhaps I could help?'
'Yes, you could.'
'With the poem. We could write it together. You can to do the bulk of it, the twiddly bits and I'll throw in the odd joke. 'There was a young poet called Horace,' that's a start.'
And Horace just stared at Captain Bill.
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