Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing

Goodnight, Irene… what a complete waste of time. Not that I did a hell of a lot to prepare, but the effort I did put forth was wasted. Little rain, little wind… Yes, I should be very grateful that the full fury of nature did not camp out on my doorstep, but we’ve had vanilla thunderstorms with more flash-bang excitement than this. I will now drink a copious measure of rum to both placate my disappointment and greet the coming week. Week, weak… yeah… that fits…

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