Sorry to have been absent for so long but what with having to accompany George baby and his new wife (my dears, simply far too thin!) to the film festival and then have Lewis Hamilton ring me for advice on the best line to take through the chicane just outside the tunnel ('SoD' and I sat in the stand just above it back in, well, whenever), life has been anything but a holiday. However, I am delighted to see that the weather back in England is typical for a Bank holiday weekend - atrocious! - so I can feel a bit better about the fact that it isn't too good here, either - French bastards! I have picked up a bit of a tan but, dammit, nothing that is going to knock out the old ladies at my local swimming pool when I return. Incidentally, I am due back late next Friday, so normal service, or what passes for it here at D&N, will resume next Saturday - who groaned?
I have been following the news as best I can from The Daily Telegraph via this infernal 'do-flicker-thingie' but it's just not the same as slumping in my comfortable office chair in my jimjams and my faithful, threadbare dressing gown bearing the encrusted detritus of a thousand ancient breakfasts spread down the front, and with my big screen, my faithful mouse and a bloody big 'box-thingie' under the desk that does all the work and, more-over, does it in a way I am used to - which is more than I can say for this fancy-dancy do-flicker-thingie!
Not mind you, that there is that much in the news as far as I can tell. The Great National Bore-athon, that is our renegotiation/surrender with the Berlin-Brussels axis, has begun and already the BS is seeping under the conference-room doors. "This one will run and run".
I will try and keep the odd post going during the week although I confess to a certain degree of Mediterranean lethargy. Down here, somehow, nothing seems that important anymore. Perhaps that's why they're all going broke!