You will remember this recent post, well would you believe that on Thursday this week I had a conversation with Grand Ron himself, en francais. This was at a hotel near Oxford. Ha ha ha. Very good of him to humour me.
It is pissing down with rain outside - I guess I'd be less happy if it was pissing down inside, and the only thing the telly has to offer is athletics from Goteberg. As a special treat, and probably why I compare the weather to pissing, the BBC have wheeled out St. Paula for us all to admire and worship, and there is lots of pontificating as to why we Brits haven't done very well, and it is yawn-o-rama. For me, the challenge of the day is not to retire into alcoblivion, but then I've had very little to drink over the weekend. I got up this morning only with the intent of finishing last nights curry, mmmm, chicken muglai, bombay aloo, onion bhajhi and a somewhat disappointing cheese naan, although it must be said the rest of it was excellent.
Ah, of course, to finish the athletics coverage, we have to have one of those montages so beloved of BBC Sport, where we take lots of clips of triumph and despair and replay it all to a couple of recent pop records, and everyone sheds a tear or two and feels nice and actually its just a cheap way of wasting time and filling up the schedule with what is in essence a repeat, which will almost certainly be repeated later in the day with the highlights coverage. Utter Bollocks. One of my less favourite things about Aunty Beeb.