I thought I’d do an actual blog sort of post for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing so that we can follow the real life story of my next book from writing through to world domination.
It’s that time of the year again; the first day of the Wimbledon fortnight, and the first thing I do at this time of the morning – it’s 6:23 as it happens – is to thank the sequence of unlikely events since the Big Bang which have resulted in me being able to sit on my bum on a Monday afternoon and watch it.
This isn’t really all that funny, not least because for the past week or so I’ve been suffering not with a cold, not even with man-flu, but with some dreadful disease which would surely have reduced lesser men than me to snivelling, shivering wrecks, shells of their former selves, knocking on the door of death, but quietly because they lacked the energy to demand entry.
First off I want to allay your fears: by Schrödinger’s football, I don’t mean that anyone is going to kick a cat. No, by football, I just mean a football. Though for some of you by a football I mean a soccer ball. I hope that makes things clear.
It’s Sunday morning. I am at the gym. I have even been into the gym, though I admit I didn’t leave too many calories in there. Why? Because it’s Sunday morning, and Sunday is a day of rest. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.
Anyway. Sunday morning means buying the Sunday papers …
Although some may not recognise it as such, I played what I insist on calling tennis yesterday, largely for the exercise, since these days the glory is more of a distant memory than a realistic aspiration.
My cat, Sam, is barking. Yes, I know; I pointed out to him that this could be construed as letting the side down somewhat, but he just lay there on his back with all his paws in the air, a well-licked bag of catnip resting on his chest, and stared at me out of the tops of his upside-down eyes.
Mrs J and I went on a cruise around the eastern Mediterranean, starting in the stunning city of Venice. We thought we’d stay for a few days before boarding the ship. That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it? …
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