I'm moving.

At least in my head I'm moving, if not actually physically.

I'm removing myself to Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands off the south coast of England.

How could you not want to move to a place where cows sport hippie-style headwear?

Or where wild flowers wave hello every direction you turn?

Or where a dedicated monk envisioned and created a chapel fully ensconced in mosaic tiles?

Go here http://www.visitguernsey.com/panoramas/ to see the inside of the chapel. Holy moly. I'm imagining said monk to be deaf. How else could one stand the continuous barrage of breakage?

The only downside of moving to Guernsey (and it's just a tiny downside) is that the cliffs, spectacular though they may be, do not get along well with my absolute terror of heights. I may well have to walk around with a leash and a picket.

So who's up to moving with me? We can read and write and play in the surf and run through the wildflower and eat beef. Lots and lots of beef. This is where Guernsey cows come from, after all.