  I should call this blog The Weekend Report and Assorted Nonsense, because that's what it's becoming. Ah, devolution. But I have an excuse this week, much like last week, that only three of the days did I actually have internet connectivity. Thursday I left to go camping. Of course, this isn't the sort of camping that involves hiking and lighting bark with flint and cooking eggs on flat stones; it was sort of camping the way the English "roughed it" at the base of Mt Everest. So yeah, I'm on my way to Port Burwell, and I remember as I'm driving that my Aunt Mary's place is just nearby, so I stop in for a quick chat and some nonexistant coffee.
It was nice, and the countryside smelled that of that wonderful catch-all perfume: pig manure. Ah, memories, memories. Got to PB and walked into the campsight to find Eric and Wassink lazing around, obviously waiting for the party to arrive (and looking up brightly as I did). So I hit the book (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) as they did whatever. Later, it was a gigantic Milles Bourne tourney which I ended neck-and-neck with the big W. Johan came later that night. And we did the normal guy things around the campfire: told uplifting jokes, drank ice-cold pop, and made smores. Wow, I just told lies. We didn't make smores, because someone forgot to bring graham wafers. *cough*eric*cough* Friday was uneventful.
Gus came. So not entirely uneventful. Saturday, the girls came up (finally!). Let me tell you, bachelorhood is a great thing, no questions asked, but two days without even seeing a familiar girl? Oh, that's not good. Nooooooo, not at all. Sunday we went to Church in the park, which was suprisingly not horrible. A Baptist guy preached and we sang some praise songs. Not the most focused sermon ever, but who am I to rate sermons? I don't even write them. And we can all remember what Voltaire said about critics, who then proceeded to give the back of his neck a friendly introduction to Mr Guilloutine.
Now here I am, back to normal, working late because I need the money, sporting legs that resemble a lobster's legs, and a hairdo that is 47% sand. Not to mention the fact that my beautiful car is covered in dust. Oh, so sad, Horatio. 
