August dust and blues

What better place to be on a hot August day in the Midwest than on the shores of France in November. The Bard escapes his drunken father and shamelessly leaves his mother and sister to deal with him — cowardice perhaps but  a young person has to have his own life.

And so he is off on a cold, wet and perilous adventure — our technology differs from those old times of wind and sail and wooden spoons but human nature, malgre lui, remains horribly the same.