As if all that wasn’t good enough, up pops Sir Stuart Rose on Today trying to put a positive spin on his lousy sales, which would be enough to make a cat laugh. The head of Network Rail was also knighted in the New Year Honours List, immediately before their debacles at Rugby and Liverpool Street. I must go back and check on the other new knights, to ensure that I don’t own any shares in their companies.
The last woman I slept with (and frankly we’ve reached a point where “last” could well mean exactly that, not just “the most recent”) has taken to e-mailing me again, after a gap of several months. I mention that I’m thinking of including her in my blog, as it would be a shame to miss out her epic morning-after punch line, “No, that’s it. I’m definitely a lesbian.”
I’d had a sneaking suspicion for, ooh, about 30 years that I might be having that effect on women, but this was the first time one had spelt it out quite so explicitly. Prior to that, she’d thought she was bisexual, which must be rather nice if you’re a woman. It’s certainly nice for a Bloke to go out with a woman who thinks she’s bisexual, as you can nod enthusiastically in response to the question “Have you ever fancied a threesome?”, secure in the knowledge that you’re not about to find yourself staring at some hairy great rugby player on the other side of your bed.
She did say that if I mentioned her, she’d start up a rival blog principally devoted to the subject of erectile dysfunction in the over 50s. But then I might learn something useful from that. If I were ever to encounter that particular problem.
It’s a lovely, sunny day so the dog and I go out for an especially long walk in the afternoon.
The best view on our walk - and we hadn't even left home when I snapped it
Predictably enough, exactly half way round, the clouds roll in and it becomes absolutely, bitingly cold. If it wasn’t for the clear evidence of the wind blast-freezing my left cheek as I walk due north, I’d swear that it was blowing straight from Siberia.
Crags and stuff before the clouds rolled in
No sign of the mob to burn the house down, either. I thought they’d turn up after dark with blazing torches, like the villagers turning up at Castle Frankenstein to ask the Count if he’d mind awfully not disturbing the local graveyard on quite such a regular basis.
I said they were an idle bunch. Though, to continue on a fire-related theme, I did add with the utmost sincerity that no-one could hold the proverbial candle to me when it came to sloth and under-achievement.