An Audience With Your Satanic Majesty.

She 'mentioned' the Philippa Gregory novels as though she were imparting some special kernel of historical arcana. I had a powerful flashback of a shitty cinema in Los Feliz, Compadre had mercifully decided to smuggle in some beer, Natalie Portman was sporadically trying to lose her American accent, Scarlett something or other thought better of it. We both left having thought The Golden Age was better, required less booze to sit through.

We had been talking about Edward Rutherford, his books Sarum and Ruska which we had each read respectively but severally when she plowed her way into our conversation and air dropped in the reference about Philippa.  I was close to asking the rayon be-draped sack if she had made her way through the HIllary Mantel books, but I thought better of it. There was something outside my window that caught my attention. Was it air? I can't really say, but at the time it seemed to absorb all my attentions.

The weather is disgusting, and I've decided to take the entire summer of work and focus on more important matters. Not that work isn't important. Amusing mostly, but occasionally vital in the grand scheme of things. And I do mean grand, but since it's all entirely confidential you'll just have to sit back and spec. That's totes mental cripple short hand lingo for 'speculate' brah. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeemmmmmmmmm.