To make a difference, here's reality news.
This morning, near the graveyard I stumbled into a young man, or rather he hastened into me. Last time we met - it must have been late February, or so - he had just finished his studies for the teaching profession and got taught there's no need for him as a teacher.
The more delighted I was to see him smiling and in the best mood.
After both we had murmured our 'Sorry', he recognised me.
"An espresso at Vincenzo's?' I asked.
"Would be great, but I'm in a hurry."
"I see. What's her name?"
"Sorry, but ..." And off he speeded. All I could understand from what he shouted over his shoulder: "... 'll ... you ... ail."
Five minutes ago I received an email:
sorry about this mornings' hurry. There was a very important press conferance at the chemistry. They are going to have an 'Open Door Day'. With bouncing castle for the kids and many more attractive sensations.
Imagine, Sean. End of March I'd not hardly know how to spell shornalyst, and only three months later I happen to be one. I could huck the whole world. Shornalism is the most wonderfull profashion in the world.
But now I have to stop. I am in hurry. In ten minutes I have to email the article (220 lines) to the lady owner, for authorisation.
Well, what can I say. I am so happy for the young chap. It's not easy to find a job in these times.