No more complaining. If scaffolding, census forms & hot weather is all there is to worry about, then it’s fine. Right? Look forward to next week when it’s Mueller Time (okay the week after now, maybe) and the British Open. So. Take a picnic and a new book to Central Park and shut up.
The Snakes, by Sadie Jones. A new novel which isn’t really about reptilia. Even if they are supposedly residing in the attic of a ramshackle hotel in the South of France. It’s more about the slippery slum-lord patriarch of an uber-rich British family and his slithery wife. Yes. Sounds familiar and cliché. But. Hey. It’s a summer read.
Big slimy monsters are no match for the horrifying writing and acting in this season’s Stranger Things. Unless you are trapped under a rock with a tv, don’t waste a minute on the vapid venomoid series.
Speaking of creepy crawlers. Today’s arrest of the Lolita Express’ Jeffrey Epstein. Extreme sequel to Anthony’s Weiner.