Whether because of time constraints, laziness or disenchantment I fell away from blogging for a time. In my absence I spent a year in Scandinavia, I lived a nomadic Australian existence and I watched lovers come and go, but I always felt like I'd mount Rocinante, dig my heels into her withered flanks and ride once more.
And so it comes to this. My armour creaks and groans more than I had remembered. My sword - as rusty as I had remembered - is in hand. Poor squat Sancho has grudgingly agreed to be my squire. I, Don Quixote, will ride the golden plains of La Mancha once more.