Lazy eye

Sometime last week, as part of my mental preparations for my week at the beach, I imagined writing a mean-spirited, gloating post to you, my work-glazed readers. I would take a taunting snapshot of the sunny beach with its perfect waves, the Harry Potter book and a morning beer in the foreground, and you would sit at your work desk, cursing me but laughing along.

But Ophelia had other things in mind. She's as dramatic and desperate for attention as ever, and she's currently drowning herself directly in front of our rented beach house. If you want to know my exact location, find a map of the hurricane's projected path, follow the line and note how it hits the shore as though it had punched the address of our beach house into Google maps. Summer fun!

It's not as though we don't have any activities. There are plenty of classic beach games to choose from like "State of Emergency!" and "Hurricane Preparedness Kit!" and, when the kids go to bed, "Evacuation! Mandatory Edition!"

But weather or not, there's still plenty to do. Or rather, plenty to eat. I haven't even been here 24 hours and I'm already eating like a pig; specifically, the pig I ate for breakfast. If I eat any meal at this house that ends after only one helping, then it means that I've contracted some horrible disease, like death.

So you're off in your gloriously clear weather, but are stuck in an office, while I'm at a beach in a storm. Greater Forces have a cruel sense of humor today.