Apparently, there are some women on the planet who will do anything to get the men in their life out of it. Given the amount of trouble I have getting them in there in the first place, not to mention acquiring enough chloroform, rope and chains to keep them there, I can’t see that it’s a problem I’m ever going to encounter.
I have always loved snow. As a kid, I loved the arbitrariness of snowfall: going to bed at night, my head packed with the images and emotions of the day, and then, waking, to the white of transformation. Everything gone. The clean slate. Everything new. The opportunity to start again.
Decided not to have a dog because I could well be 79 when it dies, if it lives as long as our others did. Heck, it could end up having to organize my funeral.
Twitter banning Donald Trump has done wonders for my mental and emotional health.
West vs East. It’s one of the great debates in American culture; the only thing the opposite coasts appear to agree on is that nobody likes much in the middle.
When you can’t even acquire tea-bag number two and are told that the tea will be strong enough with one, Oliver Twist’s “Please, sir, can I have some more?” starts to look like a gastronomic walk in the park. By that point, my bowels were really irritable, along with the rest of me.
The States is far more graphic than the UK on BTW (Below The Waist) problems both for men and women. In the UK, women’s monthly cycles on TV are still represented by somebody pouring colored ink on an all too absorbable material, as opposed to showing the reality, which is an orifice capable of hosting a veritable Epson ocean of ink.
What does a spouse do? Put the trash out? Phone the insurance company when they refuse to pay out? Phone the police when your iPad’s been stolen (again)? Put an arm around you when you cry?
This year, I’m having a quiet one by myself (though quite why I felt the need to order a 12lb turkey is anybody’s guess). As we draw to the end of a terrible year, there is still so much to be grateful for. I am alive, for starters.
STOP, RUDY! JUST STOP! Yes, I’m shouting at you, Mr Giuliani. Just as the President shouts in capital letters when he doesn’t like something people say about him, which is all the time.