I’m growing ever more cynical in my view of the human animal as the years pass.
And have you heard that Mr Twitterfreak is thinking of changing his mind on the Paris climate deal? That’s good news because now he might get lynched by a posse of coal miners and corporate chief executives, and then we shall all be able to rest easy in our beds again.
This is me being cynical.
The mood is sombre tonight. I have sore sinuses, a sore throat, and little appetite. And I should very much like to receive a pleasant communication from beyond the grave, but emails from ghosts are something of a rarity. I can't even go and pay my respects to the original Isabella in the local churchyard because there's an imaginary tape across the gate saying Do Not Cross.
(Anyone who has been reading this bog for a very long time might know what I'm talking about, but it really doesn't matter. I'm just rambling to pass the time until happy hour.)