A short but revealing interview with Quentin R. Scruffington.
To every man, in his acquaintance with a new art, there comes a moment when that which before was meaningless first lifts, as it were, one corner of the curtain that hides its mystery, and reveals, in a burst of delight which later and fuller understanding can hardly ever equal, one glimpse of the indefinite possibilities within. -C.S.L.
It’s hard to say whether I’d feel that any attempt at a film adaptation of this book would do it justice. Oh well. Books are lame and I love movies.
In the interest of making my trip sound more exciting, these are the first riders at the finish of Le Tour de France on Champs-Élysées.
In the interest of honesty, these are sone kids that they let ride on the Tour de France route on some other (less glamourous) street about a mile from the finish where I stood for about three hours watching this kind of nonsense which was long enough to get a pink nose and for someone who will remain unnamed to get pooped on by a pigeon but was not long enough to see the real Tour de France riders.
Le tasty
It’s raining in France. And I’m totally disappointed that the toilets flush the in the regular direction.
I figured out a great homeopathic remedy today for a runny nose.
Happy America Day, America…
