Commentary
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What Were They Thinking?
There are people out here, and I happily count myself among their number, who collect. And there are people out there, and I unhappily count myself among their number, who are fastidious about what they collect, and wish that their collection could be perfect in every way. And then there are those who produce what is collected.
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The Worst Is Over.
A full day has passed, the change from one year to another has moved into the background, and we are left with the reality of everyday life, littered with the remains of fireworks and the occasional drinking spree along the edges of cold streets. Transport returns to normal
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Reports Of My Death….
I am told, by sources which consider themselves to be reliable, based upon their own opinions, that the personal weblog is dead. It has gone the same way as personal journals, letter writing, reading of physical books and many other things once considered modern, pseudo-intellectual pursuits, now consigned to the era of dinosaurs.
