Perhaps the universe is, once again, speaking to me.
I had been in the mood for escape, but here I was, stalwartly carrying on, writing of Serious Things, like the intuitive dissonance of the photo ops coming out of Gleneagles, new ways to botch surveillance, when, as is their wont, things crashed.
I should simply have gone with my heart and written of Robert Herrick and high-denier stockings.
Nonetheless, the fact that George managed to inflict more damage on the Scottish constabulary than did the usual 200 with their endearing inability to keep their bandanas affixed...illustrates an ongoing irritant. Why, given the number of physicians it must take to calibrate and titrate George's meds when he's unleashed on the civilized world - and expected to cope with sentient persons discussing issues of purported importance - would they ever allow him to peddle a vehicle of any sort?
And has anyone else out there experienced a new wiretap routed through Trinidad & Tobago? I thought I had seen them all.
The issue is the unspeakable incompetence of security forces. So much money and so little time.
Turning to more pleasant arenas...and back to idle speculation. I have two words for those who might wish to wonder about current events and future directions of the zapatista sort. Mastheads and bylines.
I told you I would have to be doing deep camouflage.
And, as for the revolutionary tourism I had promised, Schools for Chiapas. Real work, real communities and the real thing. Brick by brick, quite literally. Unlike so many others, they never left. Tell Peter I sent you.
But now, given the quality of the night and the light, I think it's time to curl up with Andrew Marvell and a bit of Jameson.