Again the "to write, perchance to be read" dilemma. Mostly I have been reading if one must know. Lots of Henry James. And now the complete works of Saki. Not material conducive to internet on the whole.
I went to Croatia for a little trip. Istria - Bagnole to be exact. Took a boat out for a day and sunbathed in the nude on a rock in the Adriatic. Lovely and burned.
I took my mother to Nice and Monaco where I found the perfect brown leather gloves. It is a summer of winters so I may be airing them sooner than anticipated in the heat of the South of France.
And I underwent the social experiment that is round two of the diplomatic corps competition. On verra.

Save the odd foray into inexplicable hysterics, all has been well.

Oh, almost forgot - the repression is worryingly effective - some nasty specimens of Dublin bore a great big hole into the side of my car just to retrieve the grand sum of twenty Euro, which in Dublin is worth a bad meal and a drink, maybe a bus home.

Getting exponentially tired of Dublin.