Blog day is normally Wednesday, but I woke up, the sun was shining and I’d lost three pounds.
So far so good, nothing to get annoyed about. There’s an election on, a debate looming, and still I can’t think of anything to say, apart from the fact that Andy Burnham seems to have disappeared, and that can only be a good thing.
I spent the previous weekend on an advanced hypnosis course. Obviously this means practicing on each other, so we spent three days going in and out of trances, with presuppositions of extreme calm and happiness. Can it have worked?
The last time I was rendered speechless was when Gordon Ramsay fingered the tattoo at the top of my spine. But that’s another story. To be fair, I’m not speechless, I just don’t have anything nasty to say about anyone which, for a writer, is not a good thing.
I can’t get myself worked up about anything. Even the problem with the deep crimson Mirror making The Sun look turquoise was easily solved by not buying it. Incidentally this saves me 45p a day, which will pay for my Olympic contribution, and gives me 210 minutes of my life a week back by not reading it.
The children ransack their bedrooms - I calmly explain what needs tidying. Arsenal don’t beat Manchester City at home - well we weren’t going to win the league anyway. While we’re on the topic of those two clubs, have you spotted the similarity, and possibly the reason why Mark Hughes was sacked? Arsenal manager - Arsène; newish Man City manager - Man Cinni. Husband doesn’t want me to buy the latest underwater video camera. Never mind.
I wonder how long this state of wellbeing will last? For your sake, I hope it’s not long.
Gosh Sarah, I didn’t realise people were actually contributing to the Olympics. Perhaps I ought to do something?
OK - I’ll boost the English medal hopes by NOT entering for the 100m.
Us Londoners are apparently stumping up the equivalent of a Walnut Whip every week. I tell you what, I won’t enter the beach volley ball either.