Jolligood deal, old bean!

(Filed from England, home of mysterious Stonehenge.)

We're on the latest rage, the "steacation:" You go somewhere far away and eat a steak. We're here on the Mother Ship. Visited Windsor Castle. Home of the Magna Carta, which freed us to sign Catfish Hunter. Queen not home. Bummerino. Saw the Roman Baths of Bath. Drank luke warm bathwater (not the first time, though, first time had to pay.) Then... onto the mysterious outgrowth of mystery known as the mysterious Stonehenge.

Words cannot describe the words that flashed in my mind. I ambled around the circle of giant stones, a 20-minute circumnambulance, silently chanting "Do not trade Brett Gardner; do not listen to Alphonso" throughout my visitation. (If I'd known of the chance of trading Farnsworth -- WHO NOW CLEARLY MUST BE NAMED YANKEE EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH, BY THE WAY -- I would have said a more pertient prayer. Still, I hope it worked.)

When one pauses in the presence of the giant, sacred stones to listen to the wind rippling through the tourists, it is a moment suspended in time, rife with emotions too emotional to emote here.

Simply stated, I wonder what those stones would say if only they could talk...

And, too, I wonder... if we learned enough... to listen... to what their message would be?

Cheerio. Go Edwar