Bojo is back from death’s door and ready to lead us into a new dawn… That would be slightly more comforting if the blond oaf hadn’t got himself mugged by the lurgy in the first place. Although I suppose expecting Boris to follow his own advice and social distance is like asking an alley cat to spend the night in!
But it turns out they are all at it… The Scottish saw-bones in charge of plague defenses up North has been hopping off to her holiday home in the mist and got caught by the local McPlod of all people. Skulking off to a Scottish beach hut in April and getting caught doing it raises more questions than I care to think about… We really are in the grip of a mediocre bunch of prefects…
On the home front – I can hardly call my country Camelot home anymore. While I was out at the National Health’s pleasure, Mitzi has transformed the gaff into a pink palace. I now have cushions! CUSHIONS! Where the Greek temptress got these from I have no idea, I thought the local proprietors are only supposed to flog essential gear like cheese and wine? Are cushions fundamental supplies? I have no idea. I am not even sure what they are for given my bachelor lifestyle. I always assumed – if I thought about them at all – that they would come with marriage. How I feel about premarital soft furnishings I am not entirely sure, but it makes me uneasy.
When I raised the subject with herself, she just said not to worry, her accountant had told her they were a business expense and tax deductible. While I applaud her business acumen I am not sure I am comfortable with the implied up-shift in our domestic arrangements this kind of frippery implies…
Bulk and The Devil 