Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Uh, oh! Looks like the summah doldrums might be setting in around Port Swiller Manor, once again causing Ol’ Robbo’s bloggy muse to take a powder and dry up.

Know what Ol’ Robbo hates? Seeing a forecast for a week of afternoon thunderstorms and then each day watching teh chance dwindle down to zero with nothing happening at all.

Cicada-palooza continues. About the only difference is that the stench of the piling up dead ones becomes more noticeable. How long have we got to go on this?

[Insert your own follow-on bugs = politicians joke here.]

Speaking of such things, I see where today is the anniversary of the Emperor Nero’s suicide in 68 A.D. My favorite story about him is still the one in which he had a boat designed to come apart, sink, and thereby drown his mother, Agrippina the Younger. The boat duly broke up with her on board (in the Bay of Naples, I believe) but the old girl simply swam ashore.

Speaking of history, those of you tracking Ol’ Robbo’s progress through the Memoirs of William T. Sherman will be interested to know I’ve just reached the point where he’s negotiating surrender terms with Joe Johnston, so I’m almost done. This go-round has confirmed my opinion that Cump wasn’t anywhere near as talented a writer as Grant (although he was better than Longstreet, who is an astonishingly crashing bore). On to Little Phil Sheridan next just to round out the trilogy and then I think I’ll give the Civil War a rest for a bit and move on to something else.

UPDATE: UPS guy pounded on the front door a bit ago, thereby sending Decanter Dog into a tizzy. The funny thing is that she’s now asleep but she’s still barking. My world and welcome to it.