Typical British summer. The hottest day of the year followed by a wet weekend (according to the forecasters). Load of crap on the telly followed by more crap and then, just when you’ve turned your back, not one but two gems.
The first, of course, is the Wimbledon Show featuring muscleman Andy Murray, who (according to this forecaster) will be clubbed to defeat by the even bigger muscleman Rafael Nadal this afternoon; but I hope I’m wrong.
The second is the sublime drama Criminal Justice. Serious subject, not-a-word-wasted script, brilliant acting and directing, the whole totally gripping; last night I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of my chair and make my customary 9.30pm cup of tea. It was that good. It’s on every night this week. If you’ve missed the first two … catch up tonight!
All we need now to complete our typical British summer is for the English cricket team to capitulate to South Africa, the gas in my barbecue canister to run out the next time we have people round, the M6 to grind to a standstill when Mrs N and I embark on the Lakes and Scottish legs of our holiday, and for the clouds to cover the sun every time Mrs N puts her shorts on and goes out into the garden. Guaranteed.
I think I’ll start to hire her out to summer events. Or rather, hire her IN. Pay me the proper premium and I’ll ensure she stays indoors for the duration. Or at least doesn’t go out in her shorts, get her sunbathing lounger out of the shed, or even take the sun block out of the cabinet.
Can't fail. I could make my fortune.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment