Friday, January 27, 2012

With the usual advertisements of Friday now pouring in

We feel even less urgency than predicted in the previous posting, to leap to any conclusions about how to commemorate the day. As in all such matters, we ask ourself, What would Philip do? Might it not be fun, after all, to improvise a windowless bungalow, to welcome the late arrival - a Stella, possibly, in the bagno?

The great number who refresh themselves here do not care for play in the verses of the Augustan giants. 

The question, posed jestingly above, is pertinent. The same man, this Philip, has moved from the play of planning his estate to the strenuously earned dynamic of en-joying it. Now, impeccably creased and Sea Island-cottoned and Pateked as he may be, he's just going to take a solitary fling in his garden with his Herald Tribune and let a weekend come up about himself. He does not have the project to amuse. He does not awaken to recommend, he awakens to enjoy and (I doubt very much if he ever used the word about himself) to think. A man would like to use his space to do that.


  1. a stella! though it's easier for me to get one where i am, in fact. i'll keep some ready for you. :)

  2. Oh, super-kind of you to offer!