So where was the elephant? Last night? On Channel 4 when they had the ‘next prime minister’ debate, where was the great lumbering cuddly blonde elephant? There was a pedestal, empty. It had a photo of Boris upon it. But no show from (probably) the next PM of our fine nation. But he’ll only be (probably) the next PM if he doesn’t screw it up by saying something stupid (like ‘I love you’.) And if he’s not there he can’t upset anyone. So that’s one debate down and no massive foot-in-mouth faux pas from President Boris. Instead there were the five also-rans. Geeky, Creepy, Squeaky, Cheeky and Dominic Raab. And much as they need to slag off Boris as much as possible, to enhance their own chances, they are all painfully aware that the Big One will in all likelihood be the winner and thus they all want to be in line for the good jobs when Boris takes over. So calling him ‘untrustworthy’, ‘unpredictable’, ‘stupid’, ‘shag anything with a pulse’, or ‘tosser’, might likely be prejudicial to becoming the next Home Secretary. Even though they apparently implied such things at every opportunity.

I didn’t watch it. Because I can’t see the point. It won’t affect ‘my vote’ whatever they say, because I don’t get one. And yeah, its of some marginal, peripheral interest to see what these people have to say, but other than the 150,000 Conservative Party members, for the rest of us it was just a new, media-inspired form of political masturbation. With no happy ending. And it became a shout-fest of five guys who are all very familiar and comfortable with each other, all yelling at the same time about Brexit. Inevitably. And its not like we ‘don’t know’ these characters. We see them most every day on the news, in chat shows, in interviews. To hear them all say the same things they’ve been saying for weeks, but this time, all saying it simultaneously, really holds no great appeal.

Though I may watch Tuesday’s on the BBC just for… just for… well, just for nothing really.

But first, its time for some physiotherapy. The quasi-medical sadism that we all love to hate. My shoulder’s been getting worse (for about 40 years in fact) over the last months and I have some hip issues which a long beard won’t cure. So its time for some Physio. To try and hold together what, at 63 (yeah, funny, it was all fine on Saturday when I was only 62… as if), nature tries to cast asunder.

Hips, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes…

Happy Monday

A xxxx