Hot, isn’t it. No? Well, it is here, and everything has stopped because we can’t cope with temperatures pushing … well, nothing special to be honest.
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? …
Suave. Sophisticated. Cool. Debonair. These are just some of the words that describe other people. I know this, but in what I like to think of as a laudable refusal to accept an unpalatable truth, I do sometimes aspire to a level which could charitably be described as presentable, yet, with monotonous regularity, I fall short.
No, it’s not a new fad diet which reduces your posterior by 50%. It’s what happened when I decided I really had to lose weight …
“Your sense of humour is as silly as mine!” – Chris Tarrant
Some of you will not know that Chris Tarrant is a talented, funny and seemingly – I’ve never met him – thoroughly likeable man. Well he is. He is also an OBE, so even the Queen likes him, because she doesn’t just hand those out to anyone, you know. He is now perhaps best known in the UK as the erstwhile host of “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?”, to which he brought his appealing brand of humour, gentle sarcasm, blatant, and therefore friendly, mickey-taking and the Tarrant talent as a consummate quiz show host.
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.
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