Shanti.

OK, no proper post today. I’m suitably distraught and engaged in self-flagellation as I type. Well, I would be if I had a third hand. And a whip.

I was planning to post about castles, quote a bit of Khalil Gibran for the benefit of stressed students - and something else I don’t remember. But I’ve been out today, I’m tired, and it’s late. Helen (she’s my ex, for those who don’t know - where’ve you been?) and I visited a mediaeval castle, had tea and ice cream, and made friends with some cute little animals with goat’s faces and sheep’s bodies. They liked having their noses scratched. The sun shone. So that was nice.

Seems it’s America’s turn to pass me by today. I think it must be something I haven’t said. Which reminds me of the man I saw in full climbing gear making a descent into a hole in the ground. I asked him why he was doing it, and he said ‘Because it isn’t there.’ Get it?

With sincere apologies to Gary Larsson. That’s one of his jokes.

So now I’m listening to the incomparable Sheila Chandra again. She just sang a song about Mecca. That woman’s voice... I know, I’ve said it before.

Om, shanti, shanti, shanti.

(Do you know, my spell checker keeps ‘correcting' shanti to shanty. Bloody Bill Gates! Denizen of western mediocrity that he is!)