Like Gentle Ben, Only For Limeys

So, not much to go into right now. Life moving as slowly as this internet connection (do people even pause before sending files of over 100k, these days?). We have become dimly aware of the existence of a Lincolnshire Mafia, which exceeds its more famous counterpart only in its insularity and aversion to violence. They are largely a harmless, clannish bunch, more akin to the natives depicted in Asterix in Corsica than the trained killers of Bensonhurst.

No, what we’ve been mostly doing is watching ALL FOUR AND A HALF channels of limey TV. And before you ask “what about the 0.5 of a channel and digital and stuff”, then we must simply rejoin that you have evidently never travelled east of Doncaster. Such signals just do not penetrate, and the absence of Channel Five in particular means that many folks round these parts simply do not know what softcore pornography is. Muy Tragico, as too many Peruvian cab drivers told us after lady Di’s death.

Muy Tragico, too, the collapse of New Orleans. We’re still not sure whether this reflects the delay while we wandered between Terminals at Heathrow, but by the time we sat down in front of a proper Lincolnshire telly, there were no looters any more. Or, more likely, none of the British channels wandered very far from the French Quarter, an attitude we are all too familiar with.

The latest distasteful pastime for the Brit reporters is wandering around in a boat persuading the holdouts to leave their homes and seek help. This serves two purposes – keeping the Feds looking feeble and making the reporters look heroic. We’d love to know what the blogs are on fire about, but, it’s possible they’ve moved back to the infant Roberts, and, in any case, bandwidth’s a tad tight round here. E-Y-See-Ya.