Had a couple of dead cute videos of dancers and dead goat noises
from last nights Bal Folk. Despite my efforts the machine writes
me messages in french about lack of storage and so forth and
won't let me blog them. Its clear that the external drive has to be
a. found and
b. installed.
Why do I loose the will to live when confronted with
technochallenges?
A walk in the rain is beginning to look appealing.
Which reminds me, midnight found me prowling these mean
streets; the Café de la Gare was having a very frisky event
(Yves has taken it over now) and the dead goats were still
playing at the Centre Culturel, so Tilling was noisy.
When I got behind the station, just above the party rumpus
and the battering rain could be heard a single solitary
nightingale.
