Heading Out

Seeking the winds that help to sail on Shakespeare's tide.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The tumbrils roll, like drums in the night!

Well there I was, lulled by the blandness of the Tsar's reign into forgetting the bloodletting of a succession. Already the Prince Regent rode grimly to the square, now he has been followed by the Boyar, jesting to the last, and one other of the Boyar's rank went down with him (though that may have been voluntarily). Stepping down to the next level of us more humble minor nobility, I was sat at a table today and realised that 5 of the 12 of us would be gone by August. Of those there are two that I do not think went willingly into the cart.

So now we sit, and wait while the Taoiseach consolidates his position and decides how the island will be ruled for the next few years. From what I hear they ought to grease the tumbril wheels 'cos they're going to rumbling some more before we're done. Even the Dauphin is seeking advice on what he should do. Hatless is gone, as is his originally chosen heir.

The ghost of the ci-devant Prince is now trying to find a place that might not force exorcism (tenure being a wonderful thing in that regard) and so called me over for lunch (which turned out to be going to a Departmental Xmas party to which I had not been invited, though they were very welcoming). Then a little hint or two that the recommendations from our task force might perchance include his field. Just another little complication to life's merry dance.

In chatting with various folk about the campus future, I can see it is going to take a bit more effort than I thought to get a bandwagon rolling in any one direction. But slowly, and by chatting individually with folk, hopefully I can build a consensus within the month. That's all the time I have, and it involves weaving a future that may entrap me just a little longer. Pity that the Irish and the Scots speak different languages these days.

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