Interlude

 

A golden dish with every wish. Quite, and then some. Does this mean 45 becomes 47? I call not in a snowball's chance in hell but feel free to disagree.

See you all at the Club.

Excelsior,

LSP

Excelsior!

 

Do you feel we're living at the very end of an age? That in mind, let's hear it for Procul  Harum. Grand Hotel, what an album. And it reminds me of a South African Latin teacher who used to command us to strike our heads against 18th C desks if we messed up vocab tests.

"I like Harum and Purple," he'd exclaim. "Strike your head against the desk ten times. Harder." Well, it was the '70s.

Cheers,

LSP

Grand Hotel

There you go. Rock on, G7,

LSP

Fall From Grace And Hit The Ground

Who knew that Hillary was seriously sick? Really sick, knees buckle, loses shoe sick. No fooling, maybe it's Parkinson's, or demonic possession, experts are undecided.

Her security detail wasn't short in acting to lift her spasmodically twitching body into the waiting SUV. They were probably used to it, train, train, train.

She emerged, later, from her daughter's $10 million apartment. Nothing quite like being a millionaire socialist, eh? And who knows, was there a secret medical team waiting in that million dollar facility?

For that matter, was the person who walked out of it Hillary, or some other thing?

Mind how you go,

LSP