In the near future, I intend to play around with the presentation of my blog, with the intention of improving and enhancing its graphic look, which remains a little bit classic... euphemism for old-fashioned. In theory, my blog should not be disturbed unduly by attempts at changing its look. But that's only "in theory". In reality, I wouldn't be surprised if these attempts at changing my blog were to provoke, as in politics, frightening upheavals of a kind that would even distress Mr Howard... who is nevertheless easily distressed, even by the appearance of a bright young black-skinned US political personality of a Democratic kind.
Talking about political upheavals, I can't help hearing imaginary Hoganish questions in the background: "Black-skinned guy? Opposing my buddy Bush? Did I hear you correctly? A bloody gutless Yankee Abo cousin..." Thankfully, nobody would have ever dared to pose explicitly such stupid rhetorical interrogations. One might say, though, that they're in the blustery murky Howard air.
Incidentally, I now agree retrospectively with Howard—but for unexpected reasons—when he stated that the date of the next US presidential election is fateful. Today, I can well understand that US Democrats, if ever they were brought to power (as seems likely), might be inclined to drop, not only Howard, but Australia... which is infinitely worse. Democrats might be excused for looking upon Howard's recent lapdog snarls—which insinuated rudely that the imminent success of America's great Democratic Party might be a terrorists' dream—as a doggy-bag of smelly big-mouthed unrepentant Bush-shit. But let's not jump ahead, since that's not the subject of my present post.
For the moment, besides evoking the possibility that my blog might soon be in an "under construction" state, I wished to indicate the presence of a rare warning sign in France, just up the road:
This is the first time I've ever seen such an English-language road sign in France. It goes without saying that I intend to protest vigorously [I've already done so] against this abomination. Nobody wishes to see the French countryside converted into a Tower of Babel. It's bad enough already with Breton and Provençal equivalents of place-names. Here in France: On parle français. Voyagers who don't happen to know what that means should look it up in the dictionary before dragging their bulky camping-car or caravan into the valley of the Vernaison and getting stuck there.