Convalescence

My convalescence continues, although only slowly. Finger bones are such tricky little things, you have to treat them most carefully, with love and attention, or you might find yourself in the horrible position of not being able to raise your middle finger when the situation demands.

I'm recovering in an LMB safe house, in an undisclosed location, to avoid any further attentions from Lady B and her henchhobbits. All outings are necessarily being taken in heavy disguise and strict anonymity. Funnily, I find that, as long as I can keep my mouth shut, a disguise is an effective and simple way to avoid unwanted attention. Most likely people find the beard so digusting and morally offensive that they don't want to make eye contact. That's a very common, one could almost say universal, reaction to beards.

However, I was able to make it to the last Ales and Tales, which was a most relaxing affair. In particular, I must commend the lovely lady Melanie, who combines the height of personal elegance and beauty with a most decided talent for writing and telling stories. Well, not that I was listening to the story of course, I was too busy watching the scenery, but I'm sure it was very impressive nonetheless. My Fool paid more attention than I did, and he thought so. Mind you, who cares what a fool thinks? Not I, for one.

Old Winyards played the LMB anthem, which is a pathetic piece of music as I believe I have already mentioned, and a few sad people sang along with them. Probably members of the LMB at a guess. I refrained from pointing out the simplicity, bordering on stupidity, of the song, it's ridiculous harmonic scheme, and the triviality of the melody. The lyrics, I suppose, were acceptable. Just. But I was so well behaved it made my teeth ache.

But now my secretary's writing hand is getting tired, and is in need of a massage. I shall help her, in a variety of ways, and dictate more at another time.