On a clear night, one can see a surprising number of stars from Central Park, but that is nothing compared to the amount of the universe visible from the Middle of Nowhere. Since I was last here, my father bought a rather nice telescope, which I thought to put to good use last night. Unfortunately, although I eventually figured out what end to look in and what end to point at the sky, visibility eluded me. I phoned my father and asked him if he could tell me what I was doing wrong, but he could not.

Yes, this not particularly exciting, but I am surrounded this week by a distinct lack of exciting things about which to write. While everyone here is crazy, they have gone mad with rural predictability: there are no wandering lunatics doing fun things, like in New York. There are no squirrels for Goblin to chase, no nighttime squirrels to invite to tea, and no strange dogs at whom to lunge and bark.

The Internet is glacially slow.

I spend an inordinate amount of time sleeping.