We know what we're doing, they said. We'll have it fixed in a jiffy, Reverend Sir, they said.
We are in the process of moving from the bell-tower to another lair, another city, and hopefully, another computer of a calmer disposition not so prone to vaporous fits.
MY hovering thoughts would fly to heaven
And quiet nestle in the sky,
but failing that, (and who wants to listen to the Saint of Southwell anyway) we shall have to settle for earthy joys, and earthy joys mean earthy cares, and earthy cares earthy duties. Like moving. And saying God bye you, and farewell, and Slán agat, until we meet again, further on, at another time, and in another place. We shall return.
St. Patrick and the monkish wealth of nations
2 hours ago