Tsweki abfoll-e-potst

Among the dozens of spams that arrived in my inbox this morning, one stood out for its note of quiet and pathetic despair. I repeat it here verbatim:

Subject: anti-spammers are lamers
regards, spammer


Sturmes und iywoles

Joh -- soch an sturm et wä jisternin. Me wä optwokan ax mitnin und twaned ük an älmeyti krüts. Me thochta tes te homze wä lechtentstrekan, no et wä förtunlauk tolk te rüdatamar wen et fell. Me mot plasen an bitstilat ohn t'amar.

Und pastsand, soch an prizan vorvormit: blüi wulken, ans Simpsons greümetes... und, é me wä ax t'anvülin në, me vista t'auntts iywol ete yura: an Zitron (maskul, natürlauk).

Minikï frödas.

My goodness, that was some storm we had last night. I was woken at half past midnight by an almighty crash -- I thought the house had been hit by lightning, but fortunately it was just the wheelie bin taking a tumble. I'll have to fit my bin with a silencer.

And in the aftermath, what a glorious morning. Blue skies, a few Simpsons clouds... and, on my brief external stroll, I saw the first butterfly of the year: a brimstone (a male, of course).

Small pleasures.