A delightful read, friend Jon! Your wish for Summer to be gone, And Winter, too, I must say, I agree; they must both go away! What does one do when one Bakes till one is well-done? Or shivers with shameless cold Like a Bedouin at the North Pole? Nay, 'tis Fall, and Spring forsooth, Moderation's fair forms, so ruth, The elixir of life to us now Who have no energy to leap like cows. Pause But stay! 'Tis Springstorms accursed That cause innocent modems to burst, And it was in the Fall that I fell Ill, with a throat sore as Hell! Zounds! The whole year is alive With controversy worse than a hive, I am confounded, alas and alack, I am too old and cannot turn back. Age, thou merciless, fell foe Of waistline, and harmless toe, Thou hast blighted our very souls, And made us fearful of heat and cold. And so I sit here and write To forget the year and its slights, For let me add, the incessant rain Is dripping into my tired brain. Blessed is he with seasons, but four, We have five, and that's one more Than what you guys have; worse luck, To sit here and pretend I'm a duck. If that sign's not a dream, and put up at all, Please be so kind as to give me a call. At the time of writing, the guest room has part of its wall an inch and a half thick in white mould. I have never seen anything like it. But seriously, great read, Jon. :) I do miss reading and writing humour in these days of frenetic activity.