Well! As I continue to take delicious, guilty pleasure in the camp "novels" of Ronald Firbank--starting anew on Valmouth since yesterday--Douglas spent the night away from the shelter, presumably with the beautiful young Jeremy; presumably [as one of our resident, rather too interested, tatty queens put it, "Well, if he's] doing Jeremy[, I want to be next].["] Run, Jeremy, run! Meantime, too, I've been having fun little talks with Timothy, pointing out that his e-mail "relationship" with the woman he married once, for two days, five years ago, is "playing tennis with the net down." The lovely thing about Timothy is that once he fields one of my zingers, and starts laughing, he can't stop, until he jollies himself right into good sense.