So Anyway, Where Were We?

Muscato recuperating (artist's impression)

Yes, children, at last I'm home, and I have to say that it's bliss. The travel? Pretty much the opposite, although I will admit to not flying coach, which does help. Still, 25 hours in transit is 25 hours in transit, and the Champers, while it truly does take the edge off, only goes so far in mitigating the horror.

But I've returned to our own little Villa to find that Mr. Muscato has been an extremely busy and predictably praiseworthy person, fearlessly braving the landlord to accomplish all the repairs necessitated by our little flood and ensuring, with the aid of the tireless Ermilia (seen above, trayed), that all is restored to its usual good order. This has made two days spent in more or less complete collapse quite tolerable, and If I'm not entirely geared up for a return to what passes for normality, it's no one's fault but my own.

As for what's ahead, I've hardly even thought, having been wasting far too much energy and attention on this quite maddeningly entrancing time-waster, courtesy of that reliably startling corner of the 'Tubes, omg blog!!. Don't say you weren't warned...