All talk of football has been banned. Officially. There is NOTHING to discuss. It’s a horrible game and why people put so much stock into the outcome of such meaningless competitions played out by overpaid, mercenary morons, representing overseas money-launderers and sports-washers, I have no idea.

And there was almost no talk of tennis this morning either, as the rains descended and kept on fucking descending. But then a miracle! It stopped. Bit later than usual, but WTF, it’s ‘a sign’!!! So out we went. And lasted a good… 28 minutes before the descent renewed. But we must be thankful for what we had, not what we lost. That’s the theory anyway.

So I read the Mail on Sunday instead and learned that 142% of British adults are 82.9% fatter than they were in 1953, even though 76% hadn’t been born then. Oh, please, try to keep up. Statistics are important. According to Dr Someone-or-Other-always-on-the-telly, the reason for this massive poundage pile-on is UHP (ultra-high processed) foods. They are not just evil, but they are ALL the evil in the world, wrapped up in a bleached white, sourdough, over-sweetened wrap filled with calcium this and sodium that and 42 ‘E’ numbers and horrible, probably carcinogenic, preservatives and additives in such numbers (other numbers from the previous) that its incredible how anyone can survive one single bite out of Big Mac without just imploding on the spot. Even thinking about Pringles can make you diabetic.

So I decided, right there and then, that I will never again eat any UHP foods. Unless, of course, they taste really good or will make me more alluring to women.

I’ve just come back from a visit with the brother. And it was, without a doubt, the best visit… ever. Yes, ever. He was totally alert, wide awake, completely responsive ANDDDDD, spoke through his little voice thing, even though it’s difficult and he’d already had an exhausting morning of ‘sitting up’. Yup, if you doubted how ill he was, sitting up for 2 hours represents hard and exhausting ‘work’. He even laughed, in response to (loving) abuse, but then he coughed a bit. Though, quite frankly, if he’s going to get better he needs to man up and get used to things like laughing. And abuse. Dare we get optimistic? Dare we???

Happy Sunday

A xxxx