5th August
We still don't have a phone line so I drove to the nearest France Telecom 'Boutique’ where a slab-faced girl told me that there had been a storm and no-one has a line. I confronted her with the fact that all my neighbours have functioning lines. She reluctantly turned on her computer, thought for a bit and decided to tell me that there is indeed a problem, but just with my house, and someone was on their way there now to sort it out, but if they found no-one at the house they would have to leave it until next week. Her tactics defeated me, I returned to base camp.
Sunday Poem
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“My Son, my Executioner” My son, my executioner, I take you in my
arms, Quiet and small and just astir And whom my body warms. Sweet death,
small son...
6 hours ago
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