I could talk about how white the Shire is at the moment. The cow parsley is going crazy this year, we have a fine showing of snowy May blossom, and the elder looks as though it’s about to prove that it can be just as crazy as the cow parsley.
But we’ve done the Shire a lot lately. It’s becoming tedious.
Or I could talk about the fact that I went to bed at 4.15 this morning, courtesy of a late visit from New York which persuaded me to write one of my delightfully arcane e-mails to the Woman in America. And then I could go on to talk about said Woman – how she is an object lesson in How to be Compelling Without Really Trying Too Hard, or How to Administer the Fatal Dose of High Voltage Electricity Which Causes You to Shake and Suffer and Die, and yet You’re Oddly Convinced that You’ll Come Back for More in the Next Life, or So This is What Groundhog Day is Really All About.
But that would be all rather personal, wouldn’t it?
I suppose I could talk about why having a few late night drinks is a bit like going on holiday, but I’m in too bad a mood to construct a lucid rationale that might make sense to somebody who is interested in either the human condition or the nature of reality or both.
So I’m not going to make a blog post tonight. I’m going to write a long e-mail to Ms Wong instead. I expect it will be irrational.