For the remaining quarter of the year I shall be retreating to my hermitage in order to study ancient manuscripts, grow a long flowing beard in which to gather crumbs from my diet of sweet biscuits, and generally mutter to myself.
Doctor Pockless ties his bundle to a stick and retreats to an unknown location, for an unspecified amount of time. His doodles shall be sorely missed, as will the words that surround them.
In an unprecedentedly shocking coincidence, my brother is coming home next week, although whether or not it will feel like home after eight or nine years* of living abroad, is another matter. Thanks to various funerals and courses and whathaveyou, I have seen him so frequently in the last year, that I may start to miss him when he takes up residence in this country again.
*No doubt he will clarify the precise length of his soujourn in Poland and Hungary, if I am mistaken.