Bombing Wats, Promises and a PS.

Were this blog not such an enlightened and enlightening source of Higher Ideas and Life, What It Means on a Good Day, I would begin by relating how I shaved this morning and how good it felt. Were in not, which it is.

Forgetting enlightenment for a moment: I have no idea what it has been costing me to receive emails and even post here using Botswana Orange at its roaming best. I don't want to know. I do want that smirky little lass down in Toowong Village to make my new Australian SIM card work; we did discuss the possibility of her letting me have a 4 year-old to set things up. Now I'm going to insist on it.

The reason I mention this is that I've had a bit of behind-the-scenes feedback to the blog. One follower admits to checking from time to time to make sure that I haven't fallen out of the sky or been run over by a wombat. That must be exhausting (checking the blog, not being wombed over by a runbat). And so, I hereby promise that if I do fall out of the sky or anything like that, I'll let you know through the blog.

Several others are waiting with barely concealed impatience for the Erromangon feast menu. I'll let you know as soon as I get close enough to feel the heat in the kitchen.

Brat#2, if you do happen to read this please remind me to talk to you about the German studies that have shown that bees do not return to hives in which cell phones are planted. The obvious theory is that the radiation chases them away. How does that compare to the bees you try to extricate from cellphone transmitting towers? Is there Work To Be Done here? Is there money in it?

The view from my bed in the PopShack is still the best, evvah! Even so, the stark droop of distant gum leaves against the night sky from the Duke Street, Toowong spare room is pretty darned good.

I think that's enough boredom for the day. Time to walk down to the Village (and if I time things properly I won't have to walk up the really steep hills back).

PS: I shaved this morning and it feels good.