Dust and Boulders - March 14th, 2009

[PAN IN]

-INT. Mr. Roger's Living Room

(MR. ROGERS IS ASLEEP UNDER BENCH, HE YAWNS)

"Yaaaaawwwwn."




And that, I think, would about sum it up.

Back again? I think so, or at least the recently delivered latte beeps in agreement. Mister Andrew Fanning, of the well-known Fantastics, has just left London for his adventures in Paris, and his two-day visit helped provide a much-needed spark to the occurances here. Jess and I are heading to Amsterdam to visit our friend Natalja in mid-April, and after that apparently are going to cycle to Paris ourselves. (see: here) Hmmm...

I'm going to do some more Wwoofing in May, which for those of you who remember our Jungle Slavery period of Bolivia, means working on farms in return for room and board, but those farms being in wildly awesome places. In this instance I'm heading to Ireland, where there are a couple of farms that look cool, namely those on tiny islands off the west coast. I have to say, it's really charming when Irish people try to warn you about Atlantic weather, and you try to explain Newfoundland.

Plans within plans aside, I am also gloriously returning to Canada for the summer. The glory being most assuredly not mine, but the sense of home I cannot wait to revel in. I'm visiting my grandmother in Toronto in June (Sarah, prepare yee thine liver), and then coming to E-Ville for the summer. Anyone with a heads-up on a cool job for me should definitely hold forth, and no, jokes that involve mayonnaise will not be considered original or helpful.

In September there are options aplenty, if Mister Ian French chooses to pursue his own ill-fated education, then I am most probably going to Tokyo for a year, otherwise our wandering of mountains appears assured. Those plans however are just too far away to consider temporal.

Also in life: I have melted a laptop with the Great Linux Experiment of 2009, and have a very lovely plastic space-brick that does a remarkable job of holding down papers in the wind. I'm about to wrap up my Arabic lessons, and while I can doodle people's names in cool letters, I am still unable to conjure up such complex sentences as "I am making toast", and "You are wearing my pants", leaving my command of the language futile. I got totally boned by the BBC a few weeks ago, where I endured hours of the most horrible social awkwardness I can imagine, and they didn't even end up paying me. But if the show ever airs, 'll let you know.

London is filled with new-born flowers, the days slowly soften from black to grey, and I am typing into the sunrise.

Nick.