By three o'clock I realized I had made a dreaful mistake.
The problem with rain is it keeps the clapped-out old codgers indoors. In the room in back. Where, if dog man has not taken his medicine, he keeps on blathering meaninglessly, the retired member of the judiciary rants, raves, and spittle fountains, and the bald degenerate spewes venom. It was good that the pro-Palestinians and the natural hippie weren't there, but the self-made eccentric graduate of the Renaissance Faire showed up and taxed my patience. The only thing that was truly a blessing was that little white nipple dude is not allowed to drive by his folks under adverse conditions. He has a strong opinion about the Renaissance Faire (and about many other things), and it would have taken more than an hour for him to ellucidate it in very boring data-poor detail.
You know, I'm a saint is what I am.
I exude tolerance for all men.
And glow with bonhomie.
I am often excruciated.
On the other hand, I can smoke indoors while there. So that is good. And there was a very pleasant discussion about Samuel Gawith, Germain & Son, and how Latakia tobacco ages over several years. Does it fade with age? It does. But while an authority states that it's over the hill at ten years, I have puffed twenty and thirty year old Balkans with great enjoyment. The only thing wich had paled too much was a fifty year old tin of John Cotton's 1 & 2.
It was still good. Exciting even. But quite softened in flavour.
A later discussion delved into Orlik's Golden Sliced.
Which is a reasonable standby at times.
If you are partial to Virginias.
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