from a middle-of-night not long ago

To me a novel that repeated the term "Anglo-Saxon" for four hundred pages would be spellbinding. What am I doing in this New World?

Here I am, choking on German chocolate (hazelnut), with nothing but an Old-World spirit and a bandaid on my pointer. Do not hold the loaf in mid-air as you slice it, especially not with a phone clenched between your jaw and shoulder.

What man in Los Angeles wallows and gasps in his bed at night, weeping for Angle-land, Spartacus, and last night's dream?

Sometimes I long to have lived in pre-Haroldian Britain, before non-monks were literate, before Bede, even, when no one wrote in the vernacular. Life would have been simple for one like me. No drive to produce--what would I have produced? I might have died in battle with the Saxons by now (well, surely by now..."by then"?), but life would have been simple.

And I would have fought like hell.