The Invention
The sun rose majestically, if watery and shrouded by a thick curtain of vertical rain, and started its slow climb into the sky from behind the grey bulk of Mt Nevis. Halfway down the slopes of the mountain something stirred in the heather. Branches of bushes with purple flowers on them waved erratically to and fro in a large patch of something flat and square looking. There was a minor eruption of bits of flower and twigs, and, amidst generic swearing and grunting noises, a head stuck out from underneath a cover of heather. ‘Hrrrrmmpfff. Heurrgh. Pffrrt.’ The head spat out a mouthful of purple flowers. It landed in the face of a second head, freshly emerged from underneath the cover of vegetation. The second head swore with feeling. ‘Ah, fucking hell, Hamish, watch out!’ The first head, called Hamish, turned towards the second head. It picked a last bit of twig out from between its teeth and spat it out, in the other direction this time. ‘Spffrt. Sorry mate. Didn’...