I am might appear like a person with too much time on his hands. Otherwise why would I be doing this. But actually have too little or at least it is running out. I am getting old, you see, and with that comes an interesting blend of realism, of the seen-it-all-before kind but also self-exasperation of the why-didn't-I-say-or-do-something-about-it-at-the-time kind. There is a realisation that most of the grains of sand have slipped through the fingers but still the hope that some sort of castle might still be buildable from what little is left. It's a forlorn hope but then fore-lorned is....unfort -unately no help at all.