Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

It’s a quiet weekend around Port Swiller Manor, the veritable calm before the storm as Hurricane Academia looms offshore.   In the meanwhile,  Ol’ Robbo finds himself in the comfortable position of having got the grass cut, the garden weeded and the bird feeders topped up, and is now sitting back and complacently watching the (literal, not metaphorical this time) rain clouds gather.

The middle gel managed to crock her ACL, which means crutches, a brace, no sports and an estimated four to eight weeks of therapy.  On the other hand, from what she’s let fall it also means the possibility of being fawned over by all the new seventh grade boys she’s about to meet.   I believe she considers this a win.

Watching the hummingbirds at the feeder outside the breakfast room wherein I am typing.  This is the first year I’ve ever actually seen them sitting on the perches instead of just hovering about in front of the plastick flowers.  Laziness.

I don’t recall if I’ve made any political predictions here but I’ve certainly been opining to the Mothe for some months and believe more and more the following:   It’s not even going to be all that close this fall.  I won’t use the “L” word yet, but that sound you hear is of the wheels coming off a certain bus and it’s only going to get noisier.

I’ve started reading Rosemary Sutcliff’s Sword at Sunset, her take on the Arthur legend.  Unlike her Eagle of the Ninth trilogy, which young persons’ reading, this is an adult novel.  (Well, if Artos is going to be drugged and raped by his own sister, it more or less has to be.)   So far, it is quite good and ol’ Robbo is wallowing in the romance of the noble Romano-British effort to keep the flame of civilisation burning just a little bit longer against the on-coming night of barbarism.  On the other hand, every time I read of the ruthless Hengest and his Saxon hordes, a little voice in my mind starts chanting the Roi-tanners drinking song from Bored of the Ring: “Peace is vot we want und DO have/ und a piece of anything dot YOU have!”

It isn’t always easy living with my braims.  It really isn’t.

Speaking of which, I managed to set off something of a firestorm this morning with a casual remark about Kate Middleton’s less-than-aristocratic antecedents, awaking the wrath of Mrs. R for some reason.  “What if one of our girls were to meet a royal?  Then what would you say, Mr. Snobby-pants?”

I smiled Sphinx-like and replied, “In those circumstances, I think all I could say would be ‘God save the Queen’.”

And as Basil Fawlty would say, “Just trying to enjoy myself.”

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