Eighteen is still three sixes
In Which Your Humble Blogger notices a slight change in the world, and a slight change in his attitude as well.
In Which Your Humble Blogger notices a slight change in the world, and a slight change in his attitude as well.
In Which Your Humble Blogger makes a list, and checks it twice.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is still preparing Polonius.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wouldn’t even swear to his own foolishness, much less the folly of my followers. Or follyers. That should totally be a word.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has decided to insist that they were always called ‘candy croziers’ until the War on Christmas made everything so damn’ PC.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could go on about the Four Foolish Vows, or about the sibling thing, or weird diplomacy thing, but none of that is really relevant to the play.
In Which Your Humble Blogger hadn’t thought about a pouty lower lip, to go with the line about being a big baby.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows his place.
In Which Your Humble Blogger skipped a week for travel, but managed to compare two verses this week (gasp!) and so has looked at 7 verses in as many weeks.
In Which Your Humble Blogger also begins to wonder how old, how hale, how frail, how tired Polonius is. Or is that just YHB?