C'est la rentrée

That's it. Summer is over. Yes, yes, I know, officially there are 7 days to go, but let's not kid ourselves. The miniskirts and flipflops have been stuffed in the back of the wardrobe, the black trouser suits thrown on, it's only a matter of time before we start singing bloody Christmas carols.

[excessive whining redacted by censor]

As far as vacations go, however, mine ended on a definite high, complete with great spying adventure reminiscent of the Cold War in the company of the James-Bond-esque Wentworth. A man whose greatest claim to fame is to be the only person alive today to have been punched by a cat. God only knows why he's not in the Guinness Book.

And so the fearless Wentworth and I embarked upon a quest across the Iron Curtain to locate, approach, and photograph the house my mother was born in. In a bizarre turn of events, on the way we encountered various members of my family hundreds of miles from where they were supposed to be, were practically rendered deaf by church bells, shrank by at least 8 centimetres, were fed flaming aluminium swans and attempted to break into a hotel. And I would tell you more about all those things but then I would have to take you out back and shoot you.

Suffice it to say, the mission was a success.

And now I have a few other things to sort out.