Talk radio is a staple for me, always in the car and by the bed. Cape Talk is a great channel, with guests like Danny Schechter and Scott Ritter in the last two days.

The stories of violence here are horrific, each one far worse than anything back in the UK. The beauty and brightness of the place heightens my anxiety - something about the idea of having one's brains blown out on a fine sunny day makes it more vivid to me. Pulp Fiction style but without the humour. Then I remember it's the same in most places.

A handicapped girl is shot, later dies, because she isn't getting out of the charity minibus that's being hijacked quickly enough; two agricultural researchers are found alive having been bound and had their throats slit when attacked while on a field trip; a lady is 'jacked in town during rush hour, found days later in a suburban morgue by a PI for the insurance company.

OMG, a flotilla of boats just arrived about 200 yards from my balcony, and they're whale watching!

What was I thinking?

Oh yeah, about reducing my life story to five words or so. I haven't really got there yet, but two that occurred to me were I am alone and I'm reluctant to accept responsibility. I came closest this morning while pondering a pattern wherein I seem to want to invest in people that I know will leave me with nothing or less than I started with:

I'll love you anyway

(For what it's worth, I'm not sure this serves either of us well)

Currently regretting not taking my camera down to the scrap yards when I went to get some wheel covers.