The Salmon of Doubt

Well, yes.

Exactly.

Life has gotten between myself and my blog, and I have the feeling that it is still a bit narked for the long break as I add to it from a different location to the cosy, comfortable study on the top floor of the house in Ventnor, Isle of Wight, where the pair of us spent so much time together when I had a lot less Life to deal with than I do now.

The aforementioned Life is pretty full really. I have been living a 'Graduate Engineer Experience' that someone must have thoughtfully bought from Boots.
Everything seems to have arrived ready-established and set up, from the Internationally diverse four-way houseshare where English is a language in a distinct minority, to my Mr. MacGregor-like status with next door's kids ("What are you doing in my pond?") to the job itself, which is pretty good, if, at times, I'm not a hundred percent sure what I'm meant to be doing, or, what's more, what I'm actually doing even if I am doing it at the time.

Ah.

The end of the lunch hour.

Been reading the posthumous Douglas Adams book, 'The Salmon of Doubt', hence the title. Bittersweet emotions, as the book (I'm reading it for the second time since buying it at the weekend) is hilarious in places, but it is a posthumous book, and there are a fair few heart-rending tributes.

All time is an illusion - lunchtime doubly so.

I have to go back to the office now.