The sybaritic life…

I'm sitting in my office eating ripe plums and cherries. Rain is dripping down my window, and I'm surrounded by lovely hifi equipment (apart from the pre-amp needed to link the turntable and amp, and cables). Surely this is the definition of paradise.

I've not done much academic work. Instead, I've done my bit to keep the peace with my colleagues by starting on my semi-annual cleanup of my quarter of the office. Their desks are clear. Their walls are bare. My desk is buried in books, papers, mugs, devices and various unidentifiable things. But I've made a start. I've restacked all the framed posters and prints so they're out of the way a bit. They should be on my walls at home, but I don't have wall space, only bookshelves. So now visitors can see my psychedelic Angela Davis poster, the David Jones 'Cara Wallia Deserta' Welsh and Latin engraving, the Danish Litteraturtraeet and Renaessancen tree, and the four grammar and spelling ones, which will come in very useful.

I'm off on holiday tomorrow, so you'll have to fend largely without me for ten days. I might post the occasional photo, but I'm intending to be out over 'the far-famed Kerry mountains'/swimming in the wine-dark Atlantic/drunk and incapable for most of the time.

If you're really in need of a fix of Vole, you might check this site tomorrow: the Guardian Higher Education network asked for my 'summer diary'. Who could turn down the opportunity to spread the misery? Not me…