Dear reader, I have let you down. June should have been full of exciting columns. My mother's wonderfully successful art show. The spa holiday at the Lake of the Ozarks. A report on the buzz of St. Louis in the run-up to the All Star Game and my shopping nirvana at Busch Stadium. Memories of high school brought on by a posh Midwestern garden party. Pondering on the wonders of American retail, with stories of how I beat the Wal-Mart empire and got new luggage below cost. And, of course, complaints about Missouri weather and amazement that I made it through my formative years there.
But I have been drowning in life. That entry, far less interesting, would talk about the trials of being an only child of a divorced mother, 5,000 miles away, dealing with her serious illness. The paralysing fear of a family home filled with paperwork, knick nacks, fine furniture, art and just plain junk that could take years to sort out. It would layer on an intense job, filled with reorganisations, cataclysmic change and gut-gnawing fear for the future. It would discuss how down time at the moment really needs to be "down" for mental survival. Sleep, catching up on the BBC on iPlayer or reading a good book in my hammock ... nothing so taxing as crafting proper copy.
So, dear reader, I ask your indulgence. We're just going to forget about June. If I can catch up, at some future date, and write up any of the items mentioned above ... I'll do it. But no promises. Instead, look for a fresh, new entry on Saturday when I report on the ironic delight of hosting a 4th of July party within yelling distance of the Queen's weekend residence.
Hope she enjoys the fireworks.
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