HERE’S THE THING...
Acouple of weeks ago we were at the marvellous Festival Of Speed at Goodwood House, along with tens of thousands of other motor-car fanatics. Blearyeyed and battle-weary, we embarked upon the fourth and final day of this year’s Children In Need Drive And Dine event. First stop was the garage (which is actually an aircraft hangar — so rock ’n’ roll!), of Nick Mason — he of Pink Floyd. Nick very hospitably showed us around his fabulous car collection, which includes many super-rare examples of those red ones from Italy I like so much. But that wasn’t all. He also educated us in pre-war motorsport via a tour of his beloved Alfa Romeos. Stunning. This morning stayed up until 2am listening to Tom Jones sing in the Tepee of Love — a truly wonderful space created in the garden of my pub.
up in bed on Monday night, waiting. But for what? To go to sleep? Nope. For my next plan to take on the world? Given up on that long ago. For the meaning of life to hit me between the eyes? No again. In fact, I was waiting for the bloomin’ chickens to go into their coop, so I could lock them up safe from Mr Fox. Waiting for the little darlings to turn in is my last daily domestic duty before I am free to drift off into my own land of nod.
This is not my favourite household chore. All chooks are physiologically programmed not to go in before twilight. They roll with nature, man. Of course, I can’t even begin to think of complaining about such things indoors as Tash is currently breastfeeding 24/ 7. And if that’s half as exhausting as it looks, then I’m certain I’ve never come close to being that spent. And with baby-inflicted delirium, an unhealthy obsession in needless smartphone apps seems to have crept in under Tash’s tired radar. She’s got one app that can take your pulse, and another that means you can dictate messages that are automatically turned into texts.
All very clever but, hang on a minute, isn’t that why texts were invented in the first place, because we don’t always want to talk down the phone? Anyway, after finally sealing the deal with the chickens I ambled back into the house, pausing to pour myself a good-boy brandy before making my way upstairs.
Now, our brandy glasses are made of extrathick glass, thereby giving the optical illusion that they contain more than they do. I promise you this is true. ‘ That’s a very big brandy,’ declared the Boss, ‘and for a Monday night too.’
‘I’ll just get rid of a little, then,’ I replied, taking a bigger first sip than normal. ‘There you go.’ Tash gave me her friendliest death stare (at most a three out of 10). For the moment I’d got away with a cheeky Monday-night overfill, but I fear there’s a brandy-glass measuring app coming my way very soon.
female friends is on her latest drive to bag Mr Right. Her most recent strategy consists of going swimming before work so she can pursue the object of her desire. He’s a hunk there whom she has nicknamed Splashy, due to the amount of noise he makes while achieving his no doubt impressive lengths. But you know, I used to swim and make a lot of noise. I think it’s a male exercise thing. Go to any gym and you’ll hear the guys dramatically huffing and puffing away while the girls quietly get on with whatever it takes to look fabulous. In fact the only time I have heard any similar sound coming from a female was a few weeks ago when Eli, our second son, was being born. Still it was no match for all the Mr Machos I’ve met over the years. Can you imagine the noises they’d make if called upon to perform life’s ultimate miracle? Splashy and Not So Nicey.
adventures begin by starting with one thought and then going off on a tandem and seeing where you end up. Of course, I know the actual phrase is going off on a tangent, but I heard this malapropism earlier in the week and quite liked it. It makes me smile. Plus, I reckon actually going off on a tandem would solve most of life’s problems anyhow.
My wife had a pal at university who used to say she was the best thing since life’s bread. A listener on The Breakfast Show has a girlfriend who thinks Glen Campbell has been singing about a ‘nine stone cowboy’ for the past 40-odd years. And finally there was the granny who referred to new-fangled technology as being ‘state of the ark’. I shall inform my son Noah immediately. He’ll be thrilled.