There have been a number of unsettling developments since last we spoke. I wonder Robinson Crusoe found time to write his bilge, if he had anything like the interruptions raining down upon him that I'm plagued with.
No sign of the nun, of course (Perhaps they're out of season). However I was rather getting used to the dancing laundrywomen, little glimpses of paradise through the long grass and all the rest of it. In fact ,I found myself waking in joyful anticipation of a little light entertainment from the safety of my shrubbery. Alas, today I made my way down to the beach to discover they had been chased off and replaced by what I took, initially, to be some Masonic or Rotarian event (Judging by the fetid stench of broiling meat it may even have been the Lib Dems enjoying one of their mealy mouthed barbecues).
Closer inspection revealed them to be the cast of some Children's Television programme. They're clearly some atavistic precursor of the Teletubbbies, whose mindless expression they capture to a tee, and as you can see their deportment and dress sense leaves much to be desired. I'm a Winnie The Pooh man myself, and I'm not sure Cannibalism is proper fare for the under fives. Though it's a reasonable enough fate for many. Still, you get all kinds of noxious tosh on television these days, posturing as educational, which is why I left all behind.
I'm maintaining surveillance from a prudent distance. When they leave ( or "wrap" as they so pretentiously call it)I may slip down and pick through the remains of their feast, though I'm not one for finger food.
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