As you might have noticed, Constant Reader (might being the operative word), the posts on Empathies keep being deleted. Well, the previous two posts to this, anyhow. This is due to a sort of literal apathy I felt was present in them - the first being a short trailer for a Global Warming Awareness film presented by Al Gore (fascinating, educational, but not original), and the second a three-book review. Knowing how annoying and sometimes inane it can be to read these opinionated and rarely witty summaries with comment, I have saved you the dubious pleasure of not reading them. You can be satisfied with the conclusion that of the three, Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood is worth purchasing, if you (like me) are taken to reading.
Alas, however. After adventuring around Europe (i.e. France and Portugal), my tales are so numerous that they clog in the channels of my brain like brightly coloured cars in a 13-mile traffic jam. Owing to this mental constipation (not the only kind which I've suffered this summer, you'll be sad to hear. Or perhaps amused or disgusted, depending upon the sensitivity of your disposition and the level of your humour). To cut long tales short:
I, along with one of my dear brothers (I'll just call him 'Jon', to avoid controversy) was stranded once at sea, necessitating swimming in the dark. Not easy to charm parents in a sodden state at 11.30pm.
Stranded twice more, once atop castle ruins (in the dark again), and once in a fog which reminded me of bad computer graphics. Me and 'Jon' met a funny Russian in the fog though. He thought we were going to murder him, and he spoke like Dom Joly. Heh heh.
Insulted my newly acquired sister-in-law one too many times. Enough said.
Became enamoured (not hammered) with Breton cider. We may have a bottle left, if anybody would like to visit.
Became enamoured with the amber beer of South-East Algarve. None left.
Descended into a car-park in the centre of a 40-degree Seville, now remembered fondly as the 'depths of hell'.
Was a victim of palm-reading gypsies.
Toured and climbed the largest cathedral in the world.
Mooned Hannah's father.
There was more along the way, but either too rude to mention here, or lost in the haze of fun (not 'drug') addled excitement.
Soon, you will perhaps be treated to a short story.
Truly yours,
Scriptor
