Talked for a long while with Phil this morning. He doesn't see the urgency, thinks I'm unnecessarily panicking, is thinking that I'd be more practically welcome in Amsterdam than in Paris or Brussels, and has got the whole thing wrong, I think, about my needing to have a job: What I want, with my magna cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa qualifications, is a position, not a job. He's planning on bringing his family here with him next summer. In a word, does not get it. What this essentially means is, I can't hope for any help from his quarter, in the form of money directly deposited to my bank account, or a plane ticket sent me, for at least a couple of months (when the ferocity with which the Bush police state will have been implemented will be evident even in Engelskirchen): so we're back to Plan B again, which, all along, I have found easier to visualize; though the end is less clear.