Today's nonsense press release from the British Food Fortnight, sponsored by Nationwide (not, I'm assuming, the old Frank Bough-fronted news-magazine programme), Budgens and Booths. Reading between the lines I'm sensing just a little bit of xenophobia. It's headed "Eat that Mr Chirac!" This year's focus is "to put the Ooo back into food". Funny, I thought it was to put the bullshit back into PR. "Did you know," the less-than-succinct four page release asks immediately, "that Britain produces 700 regional cheeses?" No, I didn't. Get that stuck between your rotting teeth, Frenchy!
I mowed the lawn last night, in readiness for the landlord to erect (I feel liberated - we are not allowed to use that word in the paper) a fence. Then today he sent me a text to let me know it would be next week before the crack team of fence erectors got down to business. By which time, no doubt, I will have to push the grass chewing rotary-bladed Flymo around the garden once again. I shall knock my gardening fee off his rent, the rascal.
Back to Tai Chi tonight after an absence of, oh, I don't know. It was before play rehearsals I think. Can't remember any of the moves (we proved this when we attempted to do it in our hilltop garden in Ireland). We will look silly in front of the new people. Tai Chi master, Mike, has offered me a free one-to-one lesson in return for all the publicity I got him recently, which swelled his classes exponentially. I think I'll need it, if only to refresh the memory.
A woman just said to me on the phone, "You're Dave Onelass, aren't you?" I just said yes, it was easier.
Music for pleasure: Lampchop - Is A Woman; Elliot Smith - Either/Or.
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