You are right, dear friends: I have fallen down in the Scotland travelogue department, as well as the guest-blogging at the lovely bunni's house department. All is well, more or less, but the return to New York, the box factory and a life more ordinary has proven to be interesting, in the sense of that famous old Chinese blessing "May you never live in interesting times." I have been floating through it all on a cloud of giant Cadbury bars, packets of Minstrels and steaming hot baths scented with Lush Blackberry bath bombs, where I immerse myself in fizzy purple bathwater and read the dozen or so brilliant books I brought home with me from the Green and Pleasant Land.
Eventually I will be done with the Hedonism ExpoFestO'Rama, and will be ready for some proper sharing. First, though, Lloyd and I are headed down to Philadelphia to catch the Salvador Dali exhibit at the Museum of Art. If a little surrealism doesn't do the trick for whapping me into shape, I don't know what will. Bring forth the lobster phones and bread chandeliers.
Note: Those dear friends who live in that Green and Pleasant Land will recognize the title of this post. For those of you on this side of the great divide, one of the brilliant books I bought was this brilliant novel, written by my own Personal Jesus of Cool, Meera Syal. Life Isn't All Ha Ha Hee Hee has been made into a three-part BBC series, and I should count my blessings that we got to see Part One last week, rather than mewl and puke about how we won't see Parts Two or Three unless BBC America decides to do the right thing by it. In the meantime, if you have BBC America on your cable system, you can watch The Kumars at No. 42, where Meera steals the show so reliably that you could set a clock by her.