After a truly wonderful evening at The Blonde and The Bastard’s house (‘wonderful’ in this context means the food was great, the whisky free and their company sufficiently engaging that neither Mel nor I fell asleep into our coffee cups), we went home, electrically, changed into our dressing gowns, amazingly, and made a cup of tea, obsessively, (‘making tea’ is that kind of deal). And turned on the tv.

Match of the Day is still banned in our house, in protest against Gary Lineker, but mainly because Spurs were shameful yesterday and I really had no desire to listen to our arrogant, aggressive manager bang on for 10 minutes blaming everyone at the club for his dismal failures. In case I damaged the tv. So I ‘found’ Women of Soul. Oooooh. And as I turned on there was Aretha, back in 1968, banging out ‘Say a little prayer’. It was a ‘live’ rendition, but everything in 1968 was either ‘live’ or ‘stoned’, even on Top of the Pops. And Aretha was just… she was… it was… simply, she was Aretha. I reckon, the best woman’s voice ever. And in the time it took to drink my tea, which was at least six or seven 3-minute tracks, I had no cause to change that view. And this was no mean cast of challengers. Gladys Knight, Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross, Randy Crawford, it was fantastic, but not Aretha. The only one who came close was Whitney. She of the angelic voice, the stunning beauty and the horrendous choice of partners and lifestyles. God rest her soul. And such Soul.

Then I went to bed. With the strains of ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ still ringing in my ears. It had stopped by this morning. But there’s always Alexa.

But Alexa won’t help me with Antonio Conte. She doesn’t do assassinations. He’s doing what all ex-Chelsea managers do: holding everyone else responsible for their own tragically malfunctioning shortcomings. Blaming the players lack of motivation is a bit rich. Considering he’s paid 15 million quid a year to do nothing else but ensure their commitment and cohesion. He’s a fuckwit Italian tosser and must go NOW.

Otherwise: happy Sunday

A xxxx