Still in Scotland for a few more days. My mother - born 1917 - first made me a hot choc drink before I went to bed when I was about 10 in 1952. Last night's mug means she's been doing this on and off for 56 years. It's 1130 pm and she making me another now, and pressing on me an article I should read ('My god' she mutters) from the FT Weekend (2/3 Aug 08) by Simon Kuper about Seymour Hersch The last great American reporter.
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There's a blogger in Corfu who brightens my days - Corfucius, writer, photographer, musician, linguist and collector of unconsidered trifles about the island and the world, past and present. He doesn't want a link, claims no one reads him. Miss him then, but it's a shame not to catch this well-informed student of Thersites, Voltaire, Falstaff, Dr Johnson and that inventor of flânerie, Baudelaire - before he sails on to Ithaka.