It's all a bit hectic right now, what with trying to influence the decision about other people's futures and which other person will - in future - influence the way I drink beer, and attempting to organise the delivery of two tons of marble with a company who does not seem to answer their phones or emails.
I have a bad head-cold, but this has coincided with H.I.'s next Summer School, so I have to get up very early and not lay about using it as an excuse to moan.
I get very vivid flash-backs to Egypt when I have a cold in the Summer, and the smells of Cairo and its suburbs infiltrate my nostrils as ghosts from a holiday long past, because I spent the whole time in Egypt with a bad cold.
The Egyptians had not really heard of the classic British cold ("Have you ever seen snow?"), but I had just come from spending the run-up to Christmas in a freezing Athens apartment, with one, thin blanket which didn't get any thicker during the night. There was ice on the streets and oranges on the trees - an incongruous sight.
The last image I saw before going to bed last night was the charming one of a four year-old boy in Iraq holding up a severed head to be photographed by his doting, gun-toting father.
It has just occurred to me that the rushed style of this post with no photographs (thankfully not of that boy) bears a strong resemblance to one by Rachel. Maybe I should get rid of the paragraphs?
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