Another view.

This is that time of year, my dear ones, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest, hence the Halloween of it all.  A good and kind witch told me that.   So, if you refer to the Nanny analogy I was in pursuit of the other day, you'll perhaps agree with me that for the moment we are all trembling between floors, in a manner of speaking, between the gross material and less substantial spiritual, between the so-called domain of appearances and the land of hidden realities, between waking and dreaming, fiction and truth, between the living and the dead.

In a word it's been crazy out there lately.  Negative energy kicked up all over the place, the cops working overtime pulling people over for minor infractions, mischief in all realms -- a young mother I know, with two floor-crawling toddlers and expecting a third any minute catches her dog in the front hall munching on something.  Pries the old obliging beast's jaws open and finds a couple half-chewed but still legible capsules.  Hmmm.  Never saw anything like it, she tells Poison Control who inform her the dog's somehow found itself an anti-seizure epileptic drug which would have killed anything weighing in at less than forty pounds.  Like, oh, say, an infant?  Young mother goes, understandably and temporarily, insane.  Because what if instead of the dog, one of the kids --  Frantically calls everyone who's ever been to her home.  Who dropped their meds in my front hall?  Mystery continues.  Scary time of year, is what I say.  Nightmares materializing in front of your eyes.  Nastiness on the street.  Thank God for Dogs.

My witch contact recommends a salt scrub -- sea salt preferably, a good jump and run in the ocean wouldn't hurt, but ordinary table salt rubbed all over in the shower will help get the negative energy off. 

Meanwhile I know not all of you warmed to the Nanny imagery, and who could blame you.  Writers between floors, straddling, grappling, indeed -- when we all know what they do is sit about in boxers and hoodies scratching themselves and wondering if their time wouldn't be better spent cleaning the grout in the bathrooom tile...

But I ask you, what about Viscount Linley's Nanny, hmmm?  Ominously absent from the current Royal Furor, although I suspect it isn't Nanny the Viscount will be nervous about looking in the Eye, if you know what I mean.  Of course,  Heaven knows Margaret and Tony did the best they could raising him (12th in Line to the Throne as he is), at least (as one news item on the scandal lately pointed out) they had the good sense to have the boy's ears pinned back so he wouldn't end up looking like Doby the Harry Potter Elf or his Windsor cousins.  They did the best they could with the material at hand.  Perhaps Nanny even tried warning them ("Ach, he's a wee bit of a handful ma'am, not meaning any disrespect.") 

A Royal Scandal is always difficult of course, for everyone.  The Telegraph's been having a field day, as you might expect.  Even the Corgis have been implicated at this point.  So you see, mischief reigns at this time of year.  Be careful. 

Speaking of being careful, I have to close the Comments Field for a short time, for housecleaning and general sorting out here in the realm of Blog.  Not to worry, loyal readership, but Nanny has to tidy up the Nursery.  And although she likes to make her young Charges and their little Friends believe they live under a Gentle and Benign Dictator, if not in the heady freedom of a proper Democracy, with dialogue and free exchange and truth in lending and all that, sometimes Nanny gets tired and even a little testy and after all, 1904 is Nanny's private domain, not a National Health Service Provider, not a Free Drop-in Clinic as they say in the grimy Inner City, so your pharmaceutical ads are best-placed elsewhere, Master Spam. 

But fear not.  Nanny isn't going anywhere.  Her corsets are whalebone and her firewalls steel and titanium, but she's a gentle loving soul, not some stern, ice-blooded unfulfilled Governess with "an impoverished life" as someone accused someone the other day.  No, Nanny's just fine thankyouverymuch and she's right there beside you all.  That's the rhythmic creak of her rocker you hear, back and forth in the dark, thinking and knitting perhaps, guarding the way to Dreamland, Loving you to Pieces, and keeping you safe.