Bright Young Things

Very good I say. This movie is quite the inspiration for next month's novel fest, which everyone that reads this should participate in. 50,000 words, 31 days, at least 124 cups of tea, and no plot? No problem.

If I have a type, Stephen Campbell Moore might just be it. And the fact that he coincidentally shares a name and a personality with my protagonist is a plus. Watch the movie! Write a book!

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog

On the last day but one of my visit I was taken to Llanstephan in a governess cart pulled by a short, weak pony. Grandpa might have been driving a bison, so tightly he held the reigns, so ferociously cracked the long whip, so blasphemously shouted warning to boys who played in the road, so stoutly stood with his gaitered legs apart and cursed the demon strength and wilfulness of his tottering pony.

'Look out, boy!' he cried when we came to each corner, and pulled and tugged and jerked and sweated and waved his whip like a rubber sword. And when the pony had crept miserably round each corner, grandpa turned to me with a sighing smile: 'We weathered that one, boy.'

Thursdayne

Test of the new lab camera. Many boredom shots to be taken.

A very lonely day.

Wish I were asleep.

"I remember..."

So mumbles Robin as he drifts in and out of consciousness next to me at the DC.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I can think of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

Happy 22nd to Laura and best wishes to Guido, wherever he may be.