I am tired. Very very tired, one may even say weary. Weary of the tiredness that fills me with a fatigue that causes lethargy in addition to the tiredness. This exhausts me to the point that the lassitude of it all has me tucked up and knackered.

As to the yellowing of my clothes, I can easily explain that. They are fine clothes, fit to suit the best poets who ever walked the land. However, I have chosen not to change them for thirty weeks. The yellowing you see is very natural, as my clothes become my friend, and embrace me with their love. They (my clothes) have even the good grace to absorb my bodily indignities and make them their own, further clothing me in a radiance which can only surround one who is so intimate with his clothes. Were it not for persistent court orders I would clothe myself in a pristine biblical nakedness. Huzzah!