Hey Peeps
Apologies for the delayed New Year wishes and non-existent Christmas wishes, but when the MPs are resting I get to go on a decent holiday without missing anything, well except the plane out, the connection at the other end, and the boat to Venice. I got a teensy bit worse for wear on the outbound flight and don’t remember much of the journey at all.
I woke up in an hotel room in Venice with a thundering headache, a mouth drier than Stephen Fry’s sense of humour, and a vague memory of a woman called Alison. Please don’t think this means I did anything untoward, I do recall a lovely lady helping me to get on the boat to Venice, it was probably her. If she’s reading this – I’m sorry; I hope your clothes dried out okay.
Politically it’s supposed to be quiet, but with Elon Musk trying to elbow his way into British politics by financing a party led by a fibber and a despot, these are still worrying times.
Who, I ask, in a democratic country becomes president of their party, then decides to become leader again and oust the person who was voted in? Why on God’s good earth would anyone trust that man? His Brexit lies were spectacular and proven.
Why oh why does Elon Musk think he can interfere with this country for profit? Because his interest in politics is either profit or a run for the American Presidency in 4 years time.
Of course the other Tech leaders are now aligning with Trump, so in four years’ time the Americans could have a choice of two people who know nothing about politics, and make billions taking money from you. In the case of X, formerly known as hell on earth, also destroying your mental health.
Mind you, Facebook is inexplicable now.
In other news
Of which there is very little. Gareth Southgate is now a Sir, which pleases many who can recognise what he achieved, and some who don’t recognise consistent progress when they see it, not at all.
To my mind this is a classic case of asking for perfectionism from others when you can’t deliver it yourself. Where is the shame in getting to the final of an extremely prestigious tournament, with some fantastic teams, not once but twice in a row, and losing out by a very small margin. If just one of those incredibly fast headers had gone in…
Of course the darling, supportive, encouraging, public had to keep pointing out throughout the tournament that the England team were getting the easy teams to beat. Which wasn’t insulting to those teams at all, who had also managed to qualify. How do these people think the players are going to stand up to that avalanche of negativity and still have the self-belief to win?
Maybe if they weren’t so overpaid on a weekly basis there would actually be less pressure on the team. Their eyewatering salaries make people feel that they should deliver, and to be honest there’s a lot of fairness in that.
Like Deb, I maintain that taking the best players from a lower league, players who are hungry to prove themselves, might help a lot. The lower league teams might be amenable to releasing them for a lot more time so that they can learn to work together as an England Team.
Hey ho, as they say. I’m happy for him.
You’re probably wondering about my grandson. He took off last week with his older brother, a boy not given to dramatic acts of mind-shattering terror, after an argument with his dad. Who else would it be.
Dad upset older brother, older brother said he’d had enough, and younger sister overheard younger brother telling older brother that he knew of a monastery in Bangkok that would take them in. Which didn’t sound too bad until my daughter-in-law applied some gently probing questions.
It transpired that said daughter’s daughter thought a monastery was a house of ill repute having become completely confused about why Henry VIII disbanded them. When we asked her if she was sure it was Bangkok, she said yes definitely, where we went on holiday Wales. At the moment they have people in Bangor keeping an eye out for them, even though the police assure us there are no houses of ill repute there, in their opinion no one can afford their weekly grocery shop let alone time with a lady of the night.
So as you may imagine, between Venice, Nigel Farage, Elon Musk, and my infernal grandson who is now apparently training his brother, I haven’t sung a Christmas Carol, downed a pig in blanket, or enjoyed a glass of mulled wine.
Why you may ask? Because as usual I’ve got the blame and I was despatched the moment I came home to help with the search, by making my ‘infernal job experience useful for once by detecting the whereabouts of my grandsons rather than seeking out politicians’. I didn’t dare say no.
So from a very nice pub in Bangor, with the grandsons I found two hours after I arrived yesterday, and were in fact looking for a monastery in Bangkok, we will return to face the music tomorrow.
Have a wonderful 2025.
Yours
Clarence
P.S. Mildred says have a wild 2025, but then she will. No one parties like that woman!
Deb Hawken - Amorah 