Some decisions are hard to make. Not exactly ‘Sophie’s Choice’ but, like, which tennis racquet should I buy? Because someone, (no names mentioned, RAAACHELLLL!!!) broke my last one. Ok, she would probably say that ‘the string broke’, whereas some of us are not so accepting of so-called ‘accidents!!!’. I normally wait about 3 years til the grip is worn out then reckon when that happens, its God’s way of telling me I need a new one. So I went to Mike’s place to get another, as you do. Sports Direct. On a saturday afternoon. Which would normally have been just ‘hell’ but because it was about 20 minutes before the cup final kick-off, the place, the roads, the car park, all empty. Brilliant. Then you’re faced with a wall of racquets. You pick one up, bang the strings, hold the handle… hmmmmm. Then another, bang the strings (remarkably similar to the first one), hold the grip (remarkably similar to the first one) and then… HELPPP!!! But there’s never anyone to help at Sports Direct. And if there is then its a 16 year-old girl who is struggling with her GCSE in art and is worried that her boyfriend of 27 minutes is seeing her best mate, Kylie, behind her back, over by the golfing accessories, and she’s getting a cold sore as well. So you look, you fondle, the racquets, not the assistant, nor Kylie, and you decide.

Choosing a government is perhaps more complex, though obviously there aren’t as many choices as there are tennis racquets in the world. And if you ignore the Lib Dems, which everyone should and most people did last time of asking, and similarly the Greens because its just a wasted vote then it becomes a very limited choice indeed. I won’t even mention UKIP, ok, other than there, because their esteemed leader, eager for any hard-right headline, last week claimed that not only would his party bring back the death penalty for terrorist murderers, but HE’D KILL CHILDKILLERS HIMSELF!!! Note to Paul Nuttall: YOU CAN’T EXECUTE A SUICIDE BOMBERS YOU ABSOLUTE TOTAL FUCKING MORON.

So its ‘him’ or ‘her’. Corby or May. Jezza the Red, Terry the Terrible. And they had a ‘debate’ last night. Together. But separately. In the same place at different times. Cos that’s what they wanted. And it was hard and brutal, fielding questions first by the studio audience and then by Jeremy ‘Pit-Bull’ Paxman who was, it must be said, horrible. To both of them. And my main worry was that Corbyn came across so decent and normal and measured that even I was impressed with a man who I know, underneath that groomed veneer, is Joseph Stalin. Theresa was ok but is still reeling from abandoning every old person in Britain and stealing their homes.

The only saving grace, the only hope really, is immigration. Because ‘we’ voted to leave Europe pretty much for no other reason and Jezza is weak on immigration whereas Theresa sounds almost as strong as she did for the last 4 times she’s promised to control it. We must hope its enough to keep Corbyn out.

I’m voting Head for tennis racquets, anyone-but-Corbyn for everything else.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx