Nothin' but net

And no one to play across it: too early in the season for the usual cadre of bronzed bodies generating a good coat of sweat at Higgs Beach.

But everyone else is getting damp ramping up for Fantasy Fest.

I knew the king and queen competition was heating up when I looked up from my Margaret Atwood novel and saw a queen contender bicycling down our street (on the migratory flyway between the Monkey Bar and One Saloon) decked out in a black-feather bra with matching headdress.

He was singing loudly, I think getting ready for his act at the Coronation Ball on Friday.