Intermission

Sometimes I feel a bit like James Bond in Moonraker. After all the craziness that's called juicy anal beaver glands to spice up my vanilla, ding-dong in mygarden, and sex boot camp rubber boots, I think it's time to slowly find my way back to earth and shock my readers with a healthy dose of normality. For Your Eyes Only.

My dear uncle Rob lives in the countryside. We sometimes go on long walks together and ponder the foolishness of our lives and the absurd amount of tax we pay, all the while taking in the unmistakable beauty that surrounds us. No, I'm not talking gorgeous women here. I'm talking a different kind of nature. Like trees.

Don't they look pretty? I took these pictures two days ago. As you can see, spring has well and truly arrived, though as I write this I'm told by our hot-n-steamy weather woman there's a whole lotta lightning awaiting us. I suppose a bit of rain never hurt a tree. Lightning is a different story altogether.

Picture number 2. Walking toward the beach nearby his house, uncle Rob showed me these luxury apartments overlooking the sea. He told me he had once upon a time in a galaxy far far away almost bought one of the bigger ones. Too bad he changed his mind. Now, you can't really tell from this picture, but those balconies are quite a sight for sore eyes. I also know they'd inspire the blues out of my friend and colleague Red Shoes.

May sweet May. The green grass. The blue sky. The murmuring water. It was so peaceful, my friends. Notice the complete absence of noisy energy drink addicts and nature loving harlots. Isn't it great?

Picture number four. No other people and no turd dropping cows either... 'What more do two stunningly handsome non-spring chickens want?' I hear you say. Though I'm not exactly picnic material, I reckon if I were, this would be a fine spot to take a bite out of those strawberry hand pies I keep stored in my fridge.

And since thinking about my fridge makes my stomach growl with a vengeance and my blue lips as dry as the backside of a rabbit, we went back into the forest and found our way to that other pleasure for the tongue (no not women)... a fine bottle of Spanish wine. It's called Milflores Rioja. Spared no expense. I mean, I think we deserved a drink after all that walking and talking and solving the global economic crisis.

P.S. Well, that's the end of this year's intermission. Next time we meet, it'll be about sex and Shakespeare again. Just the way you like it.

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