Could anything be more perfect?

Having just finished my post-lunch cuppa (proper English style, since a friend of Chris hooked up the Earl Grey and we happened to find some soy milk at the shop), and faced with a deadline creeping ever-closer for a piece on The Epic of Gilgamesh, an ancient Mesopotamian text, a violent clap of thunder distracted my attention…

And now, here I sit, deadline just that much closer, as the rain pours down onto corrugated iron rooftops (which makes it even more lovely), while Earthquake sleeps soundly downstairs and the London Philharmonic plays gently from my speakers…and I’m thinking that if this isn’t perfect, I’m just not sure what is…

Poor Chris might be thinking precisely the opposite…he should be on his way home right about now…

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