Affliction

Beunos Aires, mein wunderkinder. Owing to the last of the A2s, various weddings, anniversaries and over-indulgent exploits to Brest (which is a town in the Northwest of France, by the way) and a villa with a swimming pool in the Algarve, I'm sadly going to be worked to death over the next couple of months, and so, to the disappointment of all of you millions of readers, Empathies is going to undergo a brief(ish) respite. However, the archive holds around 43 posts, so to counteract your sorrowful despair, you can wade in the clear warm tropical waters of my previous prose.

Or not. Your call.

If anyone has any holiday reading suggestions, they would be gladly received. At the moment, it's looking like Laurie Lee's autobiographical trilogy and Faust are going to have to be painfully spread out over two weeks in France. However, there will be many other distractions.. as I've already planned, heh heh heh. Actually, if the town named after a mammary gland isn't too many miles away from our seaside five-bedroom stone cottage with walk-in showers and three floors, I might succumb to a midnight town-sign-stealing adventure. After all, who wouldn't want a sign saying 'Brest' on their bedroom door? Okay, probably quite a lot of people. But for those easily amused, the prospect is priceless. For everything else, there's Mastercard.

The main thing though, and we must remember to always keep a focus on the main thing, for danger of losing our way through this hazard-filled journey we call Life, is that this section of France is famous for it's cider.

Oh happy day.

And at 3 euros a bottle, it's a West Country paradise. And after a couple of bottles, it doesn't even taste all that bad. I know that true poets are supposed to sup (or guzzle) absinthe, but I believe it's stil illegal in le France, so that'll have to wait 'til the Scandinavian adventure.

Anyway, I must cut off my reminiscent reveries, for the sun is setting, and way still needs to be wended through the treacherous Eastern woods back to my cabin. It's a bit of a pain to have to tackle the wolves and gremlins in half-light.

And so, to leave you with a racist quote from the master of irony...

"America had often been discovered before Columbus, but it had always been hushed up"

- Oscar Wilde