You always own the option of having no opinion. There is never any need to get worked up or to trouble your soul about things you can’t control. These things are not asking to be judged by you. Leave them alone. I didn’t come up with that, either. I got it from Marcus Aurelius.

The great enemy of truth is very often not the lie – deliberate, contrived and dishonest – but the myth – persistent, persuasive and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the cliches of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought. Again, not mine. I got it from John F. Kennedy.

We’re selling the house in the village. Himself made a website for it. I could put the link online, on any of the many property channels. Even on Facebook Marketplace. But I won’t. Not yet. Not because I’ve anything to hide. But because I’ve seen the nastiness of the comments from people with nothing better to do with their lives than share their baseless opinions. One poor woman put the comma in the wrong place – easy to do when you’re dealing in millions (of forints). She was lambasted as being a brainless, greedy opportunist.

Why do people feel the need to leave unconstructive nasty comments? Where do they get the time? What do they hope to achieve?

Blogging, like this, is a form of commenting. I welcome interactions. While I don’t always agree with the comments, I know that those making them have at least taken the time to read the post. Some subjects are guaranteed to press buttons. Were I to believe some of what’s been said to me about me, I’d be a kulak working for the Mossad as a propagandist for Jews nurturing a colonial streak while massaging facts to fit my narrative. And that’s fine. Those opinions don’t bother me that much because I know who said what and they’re entitled to their opinion.

It’s the faceless opinions that hurt me more. And they’re not even directed at me at all. They’re what strangers say to strangers. So why am I bothered? I see them as symptomatic of a troubling disregard for others, an innate disrespect, a wanton need to destroy, to belittle.

Don’t read them, you say. And I rarely do now. But once you’ve seen something you can’t unsee it.

Opinions? They’re funny things.

The poppies have nothing to do with any of this – they’re there because I’m still enjoying having found them. And if you know of anyone who’s looking for a house in Zala, in the Kis-Balaton conservation area, less than half an hour from the Balaton, let me know.