The long break almost over and gone. It's been such a privilege, such a gift, this time and the nearly unbroken sunshine. Like most gifts, the pleasure of it up to the receiver, and this receiver still avid, somehow, for something, for everything, but extending the weakest of grasps and feeling massively guilty for not summoning more. The muddle within. And the greater muddle without: I shan't forget the sheepish voice of the newsreader required to pass straight from the wedding to Libya. The precious, absurd, unbearable moment when the seamless discourse almost falters. Ba(a)h.