After finishing with Guernsey, I’m in Patagonia. Bruce Chatwin’s Patagonia. The weather is similar, methinks, but the voice is quite different. A good thing too, for after spending the weekend on the little inbred Channel Island, I shiver in fear of becoming a bitter old bachelor. Must get to that middle path soon.
What’s happening in bachelorland? While I find NYC summers too oppressive for romance, I did take a bit of shrapnel to the aorta last week when the Cooperator shone before me. She was sorry that she hadn’t called me after I had “tagged” her. I had called because she was the one who suggested we do something before the next work shift. Ah well, I only see her once a month, if that, so I’ll live.