1928

I am slowly drifting towards Friday, departure day (if, that is, we manage to fight our way onto the 1 Eurostar that is leaving on that day - "if you can, please postpone your trip", says the website, like, we're all here doing nothing, yeah, sure, I'll just go to Paris some other time, and relax in the park in the meantime, shall I?)

Naturally connection with train to Italy will be missed, causing huge row with French ticket office who will cite clause 2.4.5.3d, clearly stating that

"... even in the event of gross error on our part, such as the burning down of our own rail system, you will still be made to bend over and be buggered with a large, cactus shaped tool and be forced to apologise, while loosing any right you ever had to recoup some of the millions you have poured into out pockets to avoid travelling by plane and make the planet a better place, and in fact loosing even the right to sneeze on sacred French soil".

Yes. I can see all this unfolding before my eys. It's all so obvious, I don't even know why I will bother getting out of bed at 6 am - instead of 9 as originally planned - to haul myself and my luggage - including Lady V - to St Pancras.

Push on through? Natch, that's what we do, in'it?

Am exhausted, in the meantime, by the sheer amount of work I have to do and the sheer insanity of the tasks I have to accomplish in that hostile and insane bumble-bee country that is Italy. Why not leave it rot in its own mess, like those bankers that are now crying outside their offices, pretending they didn't know all along they were bringing it all onto themselves, the greedy f*ckers? What about the lives they ruined?

"Oh, terribly sorry we just lost all your pensions, mortgages and savings", they said for years with a grin on their face as they played with your life as if it were a toy. But when it's their lives in question we are told "You should feel sorry for them".

Well, call me a mean person, but I am not sorry for them. They all knew. That's why the whole castle is coming crumbling down. A crisis in confidence my ass. No one was confident. They were all simply trying to stash as much money into their pockets as they could before the party was over. And now someone switched the lights on, and all the cigarette buts, the spilled drinks, the old rusty stains and the used condoms are there, offending the sight as they lay on the floor, corpses in a battlefield, and the smell is suddenly pungent in a way that was unnoticeable before. Except that no one mourns today all those billions who have been paying year after year for this insane capitalist system in which we live. No. It's the bankers we're supposed to feel sorry for.

Yeah, right.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnyway.

Sorry, just had to get it off my chest. Had a bad night sleep.

Off to see GG now.