Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, yes, I’m around. I’ve just not had much materialize in my braims to pass on to you over the past few days. Let’s see what we can do even without….

For those of you interested, yes, Ol’ Robbo is directly affected by the jab-mandate that issued Friday. Alas, I’m hardly in a position to draw myself up, snap my fingers under the boss’s nose, and declaim “Be damned to you and to this job!” I’ve still got some weeks before I actually have to do anything about it and am holding out hope that the whole biznay will collapse under its own politickal weight and go away before then. (A scenario not quite outside the realm of possibility.)

Meanwhile, we continue to chug along. The last few days have been so warm and languid in the neighborhood of Port Swiller Manor that I’ve caught myself routinely checking Decanter Dog and the kittehs, sprawled about on the porch soaking it all in, to make sure they’re all still breathing.

And speaking of breathing, I’m here to tell you that I am no fan of ragweed season. Geh.

How about a couple film quick hits? Over the weekend, Ol’ Robbo watched “The Lives of a Bengal Lancer” (1935). I’ve an idea I’d seen it before but couldn’t remember. It presses all the right buttons for anyone liking unapologetic British India: tent-pegging, the Great Game (complete with native disguises), and hordes of badmashes howling down the pass. The only awkward bit was the tedious explanations as to why the three main characters, officers in a British lancer regiment, all had American accents. (Gary Cooper was the star.)

I also watched “3:10 to Yuma” (1957). I’d seen it before and remembered it to be good, but I’d forgotten just how good it is. Glenn Ford’s Ben Wade must be one of the most appealing yet scary bad guys in all of the western genre, and the mental fencing he and Van Heflin’s Dan Evans engage in is really quite thrilling. The story and acting are so enjoyable that one is quite ready to ignore some cinematic howlers, including telephone poles in the distance and an opening credits sequence featuring a stagecoach dashing across the desert under an sky featuring a quite prominent con-trail.

Whelp, Ol’ Robbo warned you. Just not much else to say at the moment. (At least out loud.)