I’ve just been shopping. I love shopping. Though that depends on how you define it.

The shopping I love and just enjoyed was done at the Amazon shop in my own kitchen. I needed tennis balls… sorted, new tennis shoes… done and dusted. Be here tomorrow. And I only really have time for that because my shoulder was so bad yesterday that even I, in an uncharacteristic moment of sensibility, cancelled playing today. When, ironically, the shoulder(/arm/neck) feels much better.

Then we have a lunch up in town on Portman Square for Mel’s aunt’s 80th birthday. Lots of people going but most importantly Lila will be there. That’ll be worth the price of admission on its own. And because (apparently) I need a new suit and we’ll be in town anyway, Mel is intending to drag me screaming to that other kind of ‘shopping’. The kind that involves shops. Which I absolutely fucking hate. Don’t know why. When I was 18 I loved going shopping but unfortunately didn’t have the funds to buy much. Now I can afford to shop but just hate the process. Why do I need a new suit anyway, I have lots of suits. Considering I rarely wear them and a couple are fairly ‘new’ at no more than 7 years old or so. This has ‘disaster’ written all over it.

Bit like last night’s Cup semi-final. Awful result. And now Pochettino is talking in vague, Argentinian, Spanish terms (which accounts for the general vagueness about most of his comments) about how he may not be leading the club forwards. Holy shit! He can’t go. We love him and he’s ours forever.

I went for comfort after the match to the Hampstead theatre. Saw something called ‘Caroline, or Change’. And its a musical and its quite brilliant. Fantastic cast, amazing production, incredible voices and really really funny. Yet fairly serious at the same time. A total ‘wow’. And headed for the West End soon. At which point it changes from 30 quid a ticket to 130 quid. So go see it now.

Why are you still reading this when you should be booking?

Happy Sunday

A xxxx