Upon returning from Gregynog I am forced to face the many things that lie buried in the past, desperately concealed and unsuccessfully pushed to one side by the recent conference.
One: The Mexican Hat Brigade finally found me. Despite all the precautions and my conversion to bucket hat usage, they rumbled into Gregynog Hall, inflicted mariachi music on everyone at 1AM, and then made a quick getaway in their souped-up mariachi milk float. I may have to change my name back to Sven and revert to minstrelling in the Outer Hebrides. Juanita was especially raucous. She still has a lute.
Two: The proposed serial about Prime Minister Edwin secretly being a front for the Spherical Alien Invaders from Planet X has been shelved due to extreme publisher apathy and some anger at the detail that apparently broke the back of credibility: the editors thought that having the aliens show a preference for Bach instead of legendary rock singer Elvis Presley was utterly unbelievable. They've obviously never read 'Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency'! Rock candy dispatched as concealed vengeance.
Three: My pet square, Luciano, has gone missing. Sadly he rotated until he was normal to this dimensional plane and then effectively vanished. This has been highly upsetting, and now either life must be lived without a tame geometric to my name or a large supply of ready salted walnuts must be purchased and used to lure said geometric back into a visible frame of reference. All donations welcome, as well as reports of squares roaming mid- or South Wales looking lost or incongruous.
Four: Lemon drops are likely to precipitate the end of the Universe. According to latest theory (*), lemon drops are distilled essences of the forthcoming Big Crunch. Said essence is being captured held in reserve, for reasons unknown, and stored in bulk. Such bulk storage ignores the risk of a critical mass building and initiating a post-lemon drop cascade reaction. Be safe, buy lemon drops now, and keep them in a secure place. Thank you for your attention.
Life is never simple. Blasted lutes.
O.
PS The repeated failures to win Forbidden Island (a tabletop game) in solitaire mode have led me to the following questions. Why is this island forbidden? Why can a few sandbags stop portions from dropping into the abyss? What does it all mean? This will vex me. It shall be won!
* Of course not, don't be silly.
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