Plugging my own stuff on my own blog feels like pulling teeth. Pain is somewhat dulled by the anaesthetic. One wears off before the other. Always in the wrong order.
I was in the 1930s there. The drone of the computer's fan system spurred thoughts of propeller-driven aeroplanes. Fog is forecast. One of the passengers had better be a bomb-toting spy, to liven (deaden) proceedings.
Update. Eventually, I divorced the blog posts from the novel and shortened the title to MIRA E. HERE'S A BLOG POST ABOUT THAT.