Is squatting really the best way?

13st 12lb; zero alcohol yesterday; 1,395; Bladon.

I was fretting a bit about that quote of Churchill’s I used yesterday: the one about foreign place names. I’ve been familiar with it for years and cheerfully copied it off the internet, then remembered that not everything one finds on the internet is strictly accurate (apart from this blog, obviously). Wasn’t it perhaps just ever so slightly too good to be true? Well, no it isn’t, at it turns out, because I’ve just bothered myself to do some proper research (I am a trained historian, after all) and duly tracked it down in Appendix C (Prime Minister’s Directives, Personal Minutes and Telegrams) of Churchill’s very own history of the Second World War, volume six, Triumph and Tragedy. Churchill also said, “History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.” I think that one is well authenticated, and do not intend to fret about it one little bit.

My weight has gone down by 1lb over the last 24 hours, so clearly my client yesterday was bang right about the slimming properties of Eton mess. I feel that I should cram in as many references to it as I can while it is still just the snigger-inducing name of a dessert created by dropping a pavlova from a considerable height. Once Boris has become Mayor of London and Dave is Prime Minister, I feel sure that it will gain a much wider currency and become the subject of many Google searches, some of which will end up being misdirected here. Well, it’s one way to try and boost my following to Wife in the North levels as I work towards that elusive publishing deal. The need for which has been increased today by the official announcement that one of the few remaining clients of what I laughingly call my PR business is to retire in the summer, and be replaced by a man who describes himself as “a proud and passionate Scot”. Oh dear. I can’t see us getting on, somehow. Even if I don’t bring up the Battle of Flodden within the first five minutes of our meeting, as I usually do when meeting Scotchmen. Calling them Scotchmen rarely helps, either, I find, but I just can’t help myself.

Still, I did accomplish one useful thing today: buying the .com website (and all the other vaguely affordable variants) of the title of my planned, definitive guide to the pitfalls of dating from the viewpoint of a peculiarly inept 50-something male. The title seems to have huge appeal to everyone I mention it to; all I need to do know is to convince them about the book. It’s a pity that I didn’t actually think of the title myself (and here is the first of those promised acknowledgements, Fiona) while the bits that no-one much cares for are all my own work. However, if all else fails I may at least be able to generate a small amount of income as a cyber-squatter. Which, as an honourable man, I’d then feel obliged to share with Fiona, if I didn’t hand it over to her in its entirety. Bugger. Back to the drawing board.