There are some things in life completely unfathomable to the average person such as I. Why is the sky blue? Why do political leopards groom themselves immaculately but never think to change their spots? Why is there so much yelling and the waving of the arms about a financial crisis anyone with two neurons to rub together has known and talked about for at least two years? And why is a brilliant prescient writer like George Orwell so freaking boring?

Seriously… if Orwell was a blogger there is no way in hell many people would read him. But, that said, I’m finding his diaries strangely compelling because they are so unbelievably mundane. I’m actually feeling like I’m learning about Morocco in the 1930s. And it’s absolutely nothing like that romanticised film!

I mean, who knew that Moroccan goats were smaller than the English variety! Who knew that the Foriegn Legion was mostly staffed by ruffians of poor stature? Who knew that Jews and Arabs shared the same social status?

It’s like a little vision of the past, but with lots of meaningless blather about types of animals…

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