Mallorca

Happy for the moment, which is all there is

I see the bad moon arising. 
I see trouble on the way. 
I see earthquakes and lightnin'. 

I see bad times today. 

Don't go around tonight, 
Well, it's bound to take your life, 
There's a bad moon on the rise. 

I hear hurricanes ablowing. 
I know the end is coming soon. 
I fear rivers over flowing. 
I hear the voice of rage and ruin. 

That about sums it up. Life is not Mellow. It is mellow-dramatic. My sinews, like my neurons, are stretched like old whipcord (except in my case it's probably castrated catgut. There is a frisson of psychosis in the air. Dopamine rampant. Anover piktcha.

Twilight of the bods

In the background; some kind of swampy national park within which the hotel is built

Jacky is a dancer. Of course, being exposed to my catholic tastes, music that is, you will either go with the flow or buy ear plugs. At the moment, being popularized in the kitchen is the "low-centre-of gravity sway". This normally builds up into an anarchic frenzy reminiscent of  a voodoo ritual in Haiti.

Food extra delicious in the hotel. 

 Good table manners are very important. Remember to keep your elbows on the table at all times. Cutlery is for wimps and those obsessed with dissection. Eat with your mouth open and get as much in there as you can. And then try and get just a bit more in. Make ad-hoc trips to other tables and try and disconcert the patrons by staring at them with an inscrutable expression on your face.   

A swimming pool and preparation for a reverse pike with double twist

Very nice hotel, particularly if you want to fatten somebody up. We had half board this time which was a good choice. Three gargantuan meals a day would have been too much. After an English breakfast, a German breakfast and an Esperanto breakfast, we didn't seem to get hungry at lunchtime. 

Public Persona face

 This is me. It would be me if I lived a more static existence in two dimensions. I might start to do so next year. A photo culled from Mallorca snaps.

Somewhere pretty; can't remember the name

Oh, those dangerous boaty metaphors again

This is Mallorca part one. I might as well press the enter button now. Forgot the poem;

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

HE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

(Don't recognise the description. Must be one of those ethereal types)