CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

When I was younger, oh so much younger than today, I used to wake up with a start accompanied by a realisation that I was 26 and still not, what? Prime Minister? Hadn't? Wot? Written a novel? All that loomed before me in those brief moments on arising was the endless throb of eternity and a desire to achieve something of merit during my life here on planet earth. When I see who became leader of the Labour Party yesterday I feel so much better those days seem to be over and that well, nothing matters really, unless you are Ed Milliband's bother ( Ha!) David. The look he wore on his face yesterday was Shakespearean, envious and one that suggested he was about to commit an honour killing. I think he wasn't voted in because he is too much like Tony Blair. The sort of personality that leaves you looking round the room going 'is it me?' He starts every sentence with the word 'look' which immediately harks back to those inane conversations people had with Blair. All this obsession with the two brothers and the recent papal visit just remind me that not much is going on in the world and everyone is just waiting for the next disaster or news that aliens have landed.

On the subject of the pope I recently saw some footage of Stephen Fry lambasting the Catholic Church while that Cringy Worthington Ann Widdicombe sat alongside muttering away at the home truths. I recently fell out of love with Mr Fry but this was him back on form. There should be a new verb, to be fried by Stephen Fry. I'll try to find the link and if I can be bothered will post it here.

On the subject of aliens, tonight I might do what I managed to do last week which is to go swimming but hopefully without the social awkwardness which involved losing my obligatory swim cap and being made to wear one that clung to my head and gave me a choice of two looks, one with my eyebrows pinned to my head or pushed down into my eyes. After struggling with said cap I picked the locker that didn't work and started the ball rolling with various men offering to help. Nothing can be worse for a Brit in swimwear being helped by athletic types all doing their best to work out how to fix said problemo while my clothes languished inside. Modesty is a word that doesn't normally apply to anyone in my family but I seem to have acquired it all of a sudden and finally once I managed to get into the pool I seemed to be dive bombed by policemen dressed in scuba gear and other 'tipos' who don't belong in the slow lane. The cap gave me a headache it was so tight and I lost the key to the locker.Watching it sink to the bottom of the pool I gave a groan of 'for f&ck's sake' only to be rewarded by another apparition in Speedups or whatever they are called, who retrieved it for me. In the ned ( I give up...) I left only to find the locker had 'disappeared' or rather numbers 68 or 89 lockers didn't exist and a life guard managed to locate it as number 45. Sadly these unwanted attentions are no longer flirtatious but of a benevolent nature and golf seems more seemly and pragmatic a choice in my attempts to lead a less sedentary life.