Experience (I).

Most of the things I write start with at least a sliver of uncontestable fact, even if it is as banal as today I had an altercation in the street, or if we get relegated tomorrow, I intend to drink a whole bottle of gin.

The statement of a fact, relying on a single occurence with which to justify it, is not the work of science. It is, perhaps, commensurate with the work carried out by the taxman (1) or journalists (2):

(1): Dear Nogomet, Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs (HMRC) are writing to advise you not to spend money on a bottle of gin in the event of relegation. Instead, please deposit the £13 at your nearest tax office by the end of the calendar month. It is imperative that you do so at your earliest convenience, as your contribution goes towards the smooth running and upkeep of British society. Yours faithfully, S. Chester, Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs.

(2): A FOOTBALL fan was left flabbergasted when he received a tax demand ordering him to cough up the price of his weekend tipple!

Gobsmacked Paul Nogomet, 30, had bought a £13 bottle of gin to help him drown his sorrows in the event of Barnsley going down tomorrow afternoon.

And he was astonished to receive a snooty letter from HM Revenue and Customs, advising him "not to spend money on gin in the event of relegation."

It went on: "Instead, please deposit the £13 at your nearest tax office by the end of the calendar month. Your contribution goes towards the upkeep of British society."

Outraged Nogomet said: "What business is it of the government's whether I want to buy a bottle of gin?

"I pay enough tax. I don't see why I should pay extra for nipping down to the off-licence. I'll need to have something to drink if the worst comes to the worst on Sunday."

A HMRC spokesperson said the letter was a "standard communication."

Championship side Barnsley need a draw at Plymouth tomorrow to avoid the drop.

In the two cases above, a single fact has accumulated a loose aggregation of detail around it, and something (however limited) has been generated. Through the transformation of a fact or facts, then, we derive letters and journalism (in the short form.) At some unspecified point in the future, I would like to think about what happens when facts dwindle away completely.