Make cheese not war

Obviously my second Achilles heel is cheese. Paul called this devil's food. Probably correct if it's just factory processed. Yet cheese from a farm is another matter. It still contains all the negative aspects of cheese, but is a reflection of "le terroir" and the local air borne yeasts. Occasionally a little local cheese is terrific. Le Pe'tit Dieu is made with top cream of the milk and has a very earthy taste. It is semi hard. It is nice! However I will indefinitely prefer Comté as it is particular creamy and wild. It has everything! Smell, taste, etcetera. What bolderdash. It is all aged curds! And most of the work is absolutely done by nature. We just move the finished article from time to time in storage for another occasion to be consumed. I wonder how we came across cheese in the first place? I have always thought it strange to be addicted to any milk from another animal. There is no human cheese? No woman is fed the lushest grasses that a pasture can perform and then milked from size H cups? Strange times we live in!

I am told dinner is at 7:30pm so I will return to my room for rest, again! Enough of that bounty until the road comes along tomorrow!

This area is so tragic with the walls of buildings cracked by shell and shrapnel. And cemeteries in every corner. It makes me so full of tears to think a whole generation of men were wiped out for not one inch of land. Walking through those coal mining towns I realise the urgency with which this area was fortified - "do not let that ready resource fall into the Hun's filthy hands"! But it is only coal that ran red in Flanders fields. I saw a photo of an entire line of Grimsby Pals buried hastily then exhumed recently. The shock of that act! It is a shame any rule can force so many to a death with no reason in hand? I will never trust the upper classes or elites anywhere for so using an "honest Tommy" for cannon fodder. Your country needs you (to die)!

It is imperative that we stop and think in a town like Arras. Or in any town in the Middle East. No death is right. No death is our right to perform. So now I have local beer to cry into once I feel my tears flow upon those youth's bones. Beer made from barley grown from their marrow; bodies which lie many feet deep. Just for feeding off this tragic blood sunk into a melancholy mud. No matter how much traffic passes over the roads this place will always make me sad. No matter how fast we move there will always be an aura here which our dead need us to recall.