Sweethearts, let me fling myself at your collective bosom. One I am in intermittent, and sometimes dire, need of. Don’t get me wrong: All I do miss are my grandmother – who’d now be well over 115 if only she had continued to live – and the famous shoulder which steadfastly offers itself and would use more shamelessly if I allowed myself.
Yes, so today’s insight is that one does not MAKE enemies. Oh, no. An enemy will force himself upon you.
Will now go and fashion a wooden cross (iron being too heavy) laboriously hung with cloves of garlic (and parsley to take your breath away) to banish those with petty intent in no proportion to the crime not committed.