This evening I had an interesting if fraught conversation with my beloved about my Motovun enemies. “I swear to pursue them till my last breath,” I declared resolutely. She was stupefied. “You are obsessed,” she stammered at last. “C’mon,” I defended myself as calmly as I could, “they started it…” And then I added that they should be taught a lesson not only about crooked golf development, which appears to be dead as a doornail at this juncture, but about people they choose to molest so as to achieve their objectives. “Still,” she shook her head in utter disbelief, “it is silly to spend your time on such things.” I explained that my fight takes only a small fraction of my time. “One percent and a half,” I frowned stubbornly. “One percent and a half at most!” We ended up by agreeing to disagree, for there was no compromise in sight. “I swear to pursue them till my last breath,” I whispered by way of conclusion. She shook her head once again and got up to check the soup in the kitchen. It was about ready for our light dinner. God knows when we will broach the same subject again, though.