Off To The Yards Afresh
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
The fatted calf is dressed for me,
But the husks have greater zest for me,
I think my pigs will be best for me,
So I’m off to the Yards afresh.
— The Prodigal Son by Rudyard Kipling
Home again. Well, it’s not quite ‘home’ anymore; that would be Paris. But London will always be ‘home’ to me. No fatted calf so I settled for a full English breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread) and the English papers. All very depressing (the papers, I mean).
I hope I find everyone well? I’m just putting this up to refresh the page, so to speak. I have an interesting tale to relate concerning my old friend and neighbour Ramon and the god Mithras but it’ll take me a little while to organise my thoughts. I’ll try to have it up by tomorrow, though. À bientôt…