Basket.

Took an off today to recover from the mind-wounding office routine of recent weeks, what with getting a new boss and all. But this one is kind of better; unlike his predecessor, he actually seems to notice the poor little corporal sitting outside ready to minister to his needs. His honourable predecessor probably wouldn't have batted an eyelash if he had opened the door one morning to find I had sprouted an extra arm and two extra eyes on each cheek.

Unfortunately, recognition means work, and arbeit is nicht macht frei. The periodic mosquito raids on my unconscious person in the middle of the night failed to improve the situation by much.

Anyway, what is important is that neither massive nocturnal blood loss nor a sea of paperwork and requisite mistakes succeeded in killing me, and I lived to clear my off today, which by recent standards was a fantastic day indeed. Why, I picked up yet another Paul Johnson work (or someone did, for me), spent valuable time with precious friends and caught the suitably solid Sophie Scholl: Die Letzten Tage. Enough to improve anyone's mood, and certainly mine.

Here's an optimist's sign-off for the first time in ages.