It was somewhat frustrating not having any mobile telephone signal neither in mine own home, nor in the centre of town, as per usual. Even so, it did not stop me from studying and I am thoroughly enjoying Birley's superior (to mine own) translation - I admit - of Tacitus' Agricola and Germania.
In any case, I seemed to have been wounded by two tiny parasites, ticks, and have developed what is likely the first tell-tale symptoms of Lymes disease. Fortunately it might just be a hangover, for I decided to drop in on Phil the archaeologist to see how he was doing yesterday. (Going for that fire up on the hill was a big mistake, these little bugs hurt like hell).
Anyway, Phil was better I suppose, he has booked himself in for a weekend at the Pilsdon community so that is great. When I say "booked himself in for a weekend" I do not mean like a health spa with cocktails after a jacussi, it is more sobriety and recover in the wayfarers cottage on a farm. It is a good move, and he seems to have found a flat nearby, so it will be better if he moves out of Wolfae's place, because of her neuroses, which seem to have diminished somewhat, if only slightly.
I have fallen utterly in love with Pliny the Younger. Having nearly finished the book, I stumbled across my favourite letter of them all. He has written so many nice letters, so many, but for me, this one stands out among them all. (Pliny vii.5)
To Calpurnia
"You cannot believe how much I miss you. I love you so much and we are not used to separations. So I stay awake most of the night thinking of you and by day I find my feet carrying me (a true word, carrying) to your room at the times I usually visit you; then finding it empty I depart, as sick and sorrowful as a lover locked out. The only time I am free from this misery is when I am in court and wearing myself out with my friends' lawsuits. You can judge then what a life I am leading, when I find my rest in work and distraction in troubles and anxiety."
trans. Radice, B.
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