That was the week that was
I spent last week on holiday in a delightful converted water mill in Somerset. Delightful for my children and 5' 3" tall wife as it had 5' 4" doors. Oh how they rocked with laughter as Daddy fell like a poll axed ox to the floor unable to see through swirling stars and unable to unleash the full appropriate Anglo Saxon commentary on the hobbit like builders for fear of upsetting the ungrateful spawn of my loins. And a tip for gentlemen of a certain age, a converted water mill still has the mill race alongside, all night long it was like being next to a bloody waterfall, so up I would have to get and navigate unfamiliar furniture, all good solid oak, and not wake the house as the bloody lintel caught me yet again.
Still I laughed myself silly over the Olympic torch, at long last a fascist symbol gets an appropriate welcome around the world; cringed as we allowed uniformed Communist goons to police our streets to "protect" said torch; shared The Remittance Man's lack of surprise at the revelations of council snoopers - see we weren't just being paranoid; and toasted the tossers at the BMA, and the eager beaver hacks at the BBC who loved to report it, who want to only serve wine in thimbles with a decent gargle. As Winston knew Champagne should only be served in Imperial Pints!