Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
Retiring? Is hard. Moving to a foreign country? Is hard. Weathering a pandemic? Is hard. Retiring, moving to a foreign country during -- well, you get the idea.
Also, writing? Nearly impossible.
Not to mention, the blog just doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up: collection of funny language mishaps? A deeper diary of re-enculturation? Brysonesque musings? Shower thoughts? Political screeds? And do I need to change the name, now that I'm moving out of Bristol? I have questions.
But I'm unexpectedly tickled by the blog analytics, deliberately crude as they are (because I'm supposed to be writing this for me, not you). Hej and bonjour, sudden influx from Sweden and France! Who are you, and why are here? (But, welcome.) None of you seem to be coming back, mind, but that's probably on me.
So, I promise: I'll do better, or, at least, differently. Probably with elements of all of the above, at least until things settle into a rhythm. And I'm likely not going to change the name.
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