Monday now. Just two more days to go, here in Prague. The New And Official Love Of My Life (Du Jour Et Je Pense Pour Toujours) is in the shower house.
When she’s done getting perfectly clean & beautiful again (and I’ve stopped moping & waxing sentimentally in front of this computer) we’ll go out and take one of our long walks through Prague.
In terms of beauty I can’t compete with my lady, or this town, but both are generous enough to tolerate my presence and ignore my many flaws.
For all that I’m truly sad to say goodbye to Prague and my NAOLOML(DJEJPPT) I also feel very blessed that they are so very much a part of my life.
So, no news stories today?
No – but there’s this, from Guardian columnist Charlie Brooker, who’s writing about the press. Go read the whole thing, when you’re done here.
My lady just walked by, naked and beautiful and still a bit damp. So, it’s goodbye from me, for today, though I will leave you in the safe hands of mister Brooker.
“When did public displays of contrition become the norm? More to the point, who actually appreciates them? Sitting through any public apology is mortifying. It just feels wrong. And unless the poor sod in question is saying sorry for something as momentous as a war crime, it’s entirely unnecessary. The public don’t need to hear it, because the public isn’t as psychotically, self-regardingly deranged as the press. Consequently, these apologies are aimed not at the public, not at the fans or the listeners, but the press. The press demands apologies on its own behalf, regardless of the will of the people. And it does this because it is insane, truly Caligula-level insane.”
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