It is Sunday morn. It is 34 degrees F. outside. It will get up to 69 degrees F. outside today.

This is a good day for staying inside, 'cause I never felt more like slingin' the booze. But I can't do that. I must don parka and mukluks and fare forth into the clear and sunny (albeit cool) weather. I shall not be stayed by williwaws, chinooks, blizzards, dark of night, golf balls the size of hail stones, molten lava flows, giant locusts with flowing hair and the face of women, or the Five Horseman of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Plague, Death, and Embarassing Itch). Nay, I shall go into harm's way, and I shall take unto myself the Mission of going to the store for the salad greens and vegetables I did not get yesterday. And I shall do this in the bright sunshine morning, in the full and complete knowledge that with everybody else going to church I shall find a good selection of both food and parking spaces.

And so, go I shall. Farewell, and in the future, if you think of me, know that there is some corner of a foriegn field that is forever England.