Would You Like The List Sir ?

There's a particular car I like at the moment, for the record it is an Alfa Romeo GT. It isn't cheap but on the other hand it isn't so expensive either. A normal person, with a fair salary could aspire to one. But I haven't got one, nor could I even dream about that right now. This is partly due to the life path I have chosen (i.e. failure) and the accompanying financial restrictions. But it seems that the universe is not content to just let me alone. Instead it amuses itself by having one of these cars drive past me on an almost ridiculously frequent basis. And it knows that I will always look and drool.

Well, today I was waiting for someone when another Alfa GT slid past in all it's slinky sexiness. And then I looked at the driver and saw a callow youth driving it who was little older than a sperm. This infuriated me a bit and I turned away in annoyance and mumbled to myself 'what have done so wrong in life so that he gets that car and not me ?' and at the moment, rather than descending into the self-pity I had prepared myself for, the fictional character Kryten from Red Dwarf popped up in my head and said 'Would you like the list sir ?'. This made me laugh and I forgot about the foetus that had got my motor.

The line is from a sequence when the show's hate figure, Arnold Judas Rimmer, wonders aloud why nobody really likes him. Kryten takes it rather literally, utters the splendid line that I've named this post after, and then proceeds to catalogue Rimmer's every weakness, failure and unlikeable trait. After this is finished, Rimmer thanks him quietly and walks out of the room, absolutely shattered. It's always been a favourite joke of mine and it served well to remind me that there are doubtless a plethora of reasons why I never ended up with an Alfa Romeo GT. It may even be that the child driving it deserved it much more than me, but whatever I have done with my life so far, it hasn't resulted in such a motor car. 

But I know what you're thinking, namely if I did have that car would it really make me happy ? And you know what, the answer is...oh yes, very definitely.

Blatant Pornography

Just thought I'd share an image so explicit that it may draw sighs and oohs from the crowd. Pictured is the special limited edition £1m Aston Martin that will shortly be available to just 77 buyers. To say it is beautiful is a bit like saying that Iceland gets a bit chilly. But I just thought I'd post this picture to warm a few early Monday morning cockles.

Adam & Joe - Pod Gods

I don't know why, but I've never really blogged before about my love of podcasts. For those of you who don't know, these are free audio downloads, normally available through iTunes, and often produced by well known comedians. Sometimes they are purpose built to be downloaded, as in the case of the Ricky Gervais Show, or Collings and Herring. In other cases they are abbreviated versions of longer radio shows that have already gone out as in Mark Kermode's film reviews or the rather fabulous Adam & Joe.

I religiously download about a dozen podcasts a week, and I listen to them over and over again, often in the dead of night when all of Spain is asleep except for me and my iPod. I have many favourites other than those mentioned, including The Bugle (featuring the Daily Show's John Oliver), The Daily Mayo and In Our Time featuring Melvyn Bragg. But by far the highlight of the pod week is when Adam & Joe is available for download.

The show is a collection of highlights from the similarly named Radio 6 Music show that goes out on Saturday mornings. Adam Buxton and Joe Cornish are two British comedians and close friends who have been working together for 20 odd years. A few years ago they produced several series of comedy on Channel 4, followed by a stint on XFM in London and they have now landed on BBC radio. Apart from these duties Adam Buxton is a stand up comedian and actor, and Joe Cornish writes screenplays, including heavy involvement in the new Tintin movie.

But it's their radio show and subsequent podcast that I truly love them for. Their style of comedy is warm and silly, and lacks the preening and posing of most radio DJ's these days. Their regular features range from the legendary 'Song Wars' where they compete to come up with the funniest song based on a given theme, through to 'text the nation' where listeners are invited to contact them to report a variety of extremely trivial and silly stories. Also unique are the self-produced jingles and stings that join up their show, which are often as funny as anything on there. But there's nothing worse than trying to describe why something is funny, Adam & Joe just are. And what you need to do now is go to iTunes and subscribe to their podcast IMMEDIATELY (it's in the British store) and you can then come back here and thank me profusely for changing your lives.  

And I just have one further thing to add.....Stephen !!

The Search For Sausage

I'm a big fan of Spanish food, always have been. I loves me a big plate of yellow rice, a stack of meatballs, a slice of chorizo and a chunk of manchego cheese. Although I am a British ex-pat, I am not one of those that likes to pretend that he has never left blighty, and who refuses to eat anything but fish & chips, shepherds' pie and steak and kidney pudding. By Spanish standards I am fully domesticated, I eat and love their food. However, they are not perfect.

One of the things they do badly here is the sausage. Now they do manufacture something that they describe as a sausage, but it isn't. For some reason they seem to think that the inclusion of lumps of gristle is mandatory, as is the pink colour they dye the meat. The end result is, in my view, inedible. 

When I lived in Britain, one of my favourite treats was a sausage sandwich with brown sauce. I still remember a legendary one I had at a tiny municipal golf course in Bromley, Kent, just before getting my arse handed to me (at golf) by Bobster. I still see it now in my dreams, two pieces of plastic white bread, just a scrape of butter, three sausages cut in half and a drizzle of HP. I must have eaten it 8 years ago but I've never forgotten it. 

But I've lived in Spain for a year now, and have come to accept the fact that my sausage days are over. That was until last week. Because last week I went to Benidorm, and in Benidorm I had a full English breakfast, and in that breakfast resided one, perfect, delicious English sausage. And when I ate it I was thrown back in time to that dewy morning in Bromley, around the turn of the century, when I sat across a formica table from Bobster and enjoyed sausage heaven.

This told me something big, proper sausages are available in Spain. I'd looked in all the big supermarkets and could find nothing, but now I knew they were out there somewhere. So I made enquiries, asked a few shady men in alleys, and finally found out about a shop here called 'Spainsburys' which is but a short tube ride from me. I looked on their website and found the holy grail of pork based food stuffs, WALLS PORK BANGERS !!!!!

Tomorrow I'm setting off for the shop, and that means on Sunday morning I will eat an English sausage sandwich once more. Will I hear a choir of heavenly angels as I take the first bite ? Almost certainly, and if not I'll sing their part myself. I love Spain and I love their food, but there are some things that the British do best. 

The Blog Formerly Known As....

I used to blog under my real name, but I don't anymore. This means that my other blog no longer exists, but is now called www.jedlomax.blogspot.com and is linked on the right of this page. All previous articles will remain but I shall be taking it in a different direction from now on. Your attendance would be appreciated.

The Beginning Of The End ?

I first set up this blog nearly 4 years ago. At the time blogging was new, and very few people did it/cared about it. In that time it has mushroomed into a phenomenon, and since then has dribbled away into the mundane. When I look at Blogger, Twitter and Facebook I can see that I have a presence on the web that I don't necessarily care for. Facebook has its issues because I have been contacted by a number of people that I went to school with, and the problem is that;

a) There is a very good reason that I lost touch with them; and

b) I have no desire to attend any school reunions, which are in my opinion a rather sad and ultimately pointless attempt to recapture the past.

Twitter is more entertaining but still has its problems. Firstly it has been hi-jacked by a number of celebrities that seem to use it for nothing else than having their egos stroked. Secondly there are limits as to what you can say in 140 characters. But mainly there seems to be an unhealthy preoccupation with how many followers one has, and this spoils it for me.

And so that brings me onto blogging. What started out as a gentle little community has now grown into something huge. Awards are given by one blogger to another, people have those followers bars at the side, and I find myself tiring of the whole thing. I do like to write, but I also find myself repeating early articles without realising it, or jotting down stuff which is perhaps better confined to a diary, just so I have something to say. 

So, I have decided that with my 600th post soon approaching, my two blogs will have to change or else I will get bored and close them down completely.  In fact I'm not even sure that my other blog should survive given that it was written for a specific purpose which has now passed. 

I don't know what I shall do quite yet, but things are about to change.

Here's What We Did At The Weekend

It was a bank holiday this Monday (don't ask me why, a saint I think) and so given that it was a great day we popped down to the Turia gardens in Valencia. I've mentioned them before but for those of you who haven't seen those posts, what this city has done is unique in my experience. After fatal floods in the 1950's they decided to drain the river, which snakes right through the heart of the city, and landscape it for mile upon mile. The result is a breathtaking sequence of parkland, fountains, woods, leisure areas, cafeterias, children's play areas and artificial lakes. I'm not sure quite how big it is but it would take several hours to traverse the whole thing. 

So we had a wander, a bocadillo (small and delicious sandwich made with continental style bread), a beer and finally ended up by the large fountains you see pictured above. They sit outside the concert hall (out of shot to the left) and are synchronised to a soundtrack of classical music that pours out of large speakers on all sides. At night the fountains are lit up with coloured lights as is the whole park. But on Monday it was hot, sunny, and if you stood in just the right place you could catch a cooling mist of water from the jets. A lovely day, and another moment when I felt privileged to live here.

Guilty Pleasures # 1 - 'Who Dares Wins' 1982

We all of us have two categories of favourite stuff. That which we admit to (perhaps because it is safely fashionable to do so) and that which we don't (normally consisting of naff or embarrassing tastes that we may not have even divulged to our partners). The latter type is what brings me to this post. I have a number a treasured favourite things that I would rather not admit to. This makes them guilty pleasures, and we all have these. Well I think it's about time to come out in the open and admit a few of them.

Frankly I'm tired of people adjusting their favourite film lists to accord with whatever Empire magazine likes this month, or only admitting to listening to music that is cool. It's okay if you enjoy the Worzels' 'I've got a brand new combine harvester, and I'll give you the key'. People may point and stare, but those people are vacuous automatons, too scared to be themselves and content instead to wrap themselves in the safety of the cultural zeitgeist. Well not me, I own 'Chas & Dave's' greatest hits and I'm not ashamed.

But today I feature something else, namely a film I own on DVD, yes that's right you can actually get this on DVD. There was a time when Lewis Collins (pictured) was favourite to take over as James Bond, but it never quite happened, maybe because he wasn't considered posh enough, or perhaps he wasn't famous enough in the U.S.. Whatever the reason he never got the role and so instead he did this movie, playing an S.A.S. captain seemingly thrown out of the service for brutality, but actually on a secret mission. Now, by most objective standards I suppose it isn't too good, but I personally love it. I love Lewis Collins (who can best be described as a 70's version of Jason Statham), I love how ruddy bloody hard he is in this, and I even like the synth music that dominates the soundtrack. But best of all is the last 10 minutes when the S.A.S. turn up in force and are generally tough and manly.

I know that many people think this film is crap, but I don't and I watch it often. In fact a double-bill with 'The Wild Geese' would be guilty pleasure heaven. But I don't want to be the only one edging out of the closet with a pile of DVDs in his hand, there must be others out there with secret loves that they dare not admit to, so please feel free to leave comments coming clean about your shame. Still not convinced ? Okay then, I own the greatest hits CD of 'Hue & Cry', and I actually like it. Beat that for shame.

Susan Boyle Makes The News In Spain

I know that a lot of Brits are currently enjoying the guilty pleasure that is 'Britain's Got Talent'. A title which is ironic as it doesn't really apply to any of the judges. However as many of us now know, the other night a performance by the lady pictured blew the judges and viewing public away. Subsequently the video has appeared on You Tube and over 5 million more people have seen it there. And last night it appeared on the Spanish nightly news.

Imagine my surprise when I was settling down to familiar stories about paella and a large amount of sunshine, when the sinister looking mugs of Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan appeared on my screen. I noted that Mr. Cowell looks as if he's recently painted his teeth with white Dulux emulsion, whilst Morgan looks as reptilian as I remember him. Stuck in the middle is Amanda Holden, who is often touted as an 'actress' but who only actually seems to appear as a judge on this show. Quite what are the qualifications of any of these people to recognise talent is dubious, given that it's a commodity that none of them seem to possess in obvious quantities. However even they could tell that Miss. Boyle was very good at singing.

One thing though, the comments of Morgan and in particular Holden that beforehand 'everyone was against you' baffled me rather. First off I don't see the evidence for that and secondly if it were true then it would have been based purely on looks. If the show were 'which hot babe would Britain like to shag' then Miss. Holden might have had a point, but as it isn't then she appears to have been talking out of her expensive arse. And not for the first time by all accounts. But anyway, Susan Boyle has hit it big in Spain too, and deservedly so from what I could see. If however you were to ask the average Spaniard to name any of the judges I'm sure they wouldn't have a clue. There is some justice then.

Oh Dear God !!!

I can't believe I'm telling you this. In fact I can't really believe I'm doing it, but that's another thing. Regular readers will know that I'm a Bond nutter, and various tragic posts along the way will demonstrate that. But what I'm engaged in right now is a watch thru of 23 James Bond films in a row. I'm not watching them back to back mind, and this process started last year, so I'm not that sad. But I am pretty tragic nonetheless.

The reason for this marathon is simple. One of the things I said I'd do when I had more time was watch my DVDs (of which there are over 500), read my books, listen to my CDs and generally enjoy life. My last few years in England were so stressful that I was in a perpetual state of fugue (oooh, that's a good word !) and my quality of life descended to that of a squashed pea. This wasn't England's fault (calm yourself Bob) but was due to a confluence of work and money hassles. Anyway, I'm all better now. So my 'Bond-thru' as I'm calling it (oh God and now I've told you that too !) is all part of the plan.

So, if this is all so immensely pathetic (I feel you all nodding) why mention it all, why not keep it as a dirty little secret like a porn collection stashed under the bed ? Well, it's because this watch thru has produced some startling results and changed my mind about several things. Now rather than go through them all like a bobble hatted anorak wearing snot face called Mervyn, I shall summarise them instead. That way we can get out of this post before our eyes start to bleed. So, here goes, brace yourselves;

1. George Lazenby was very good. I know !! I was amazed too. But you can't get away from the fact that he was excellent in the role. The youngest actor by far to ever play Bond (just 28) he has a physical presence only matched by Daniel Craig. He looks like he could beat people up, matches Fleming's description of Bond perfectly and looks remarkably comfortable despite having no acting experience. Also his final scene is the most touching thing in all the Bond films, and I don't think many of the other Bonds could have pulled it off.

2. Roger Moore stayed on about 3 films too long. He remains my favourite, due to his immense charm and likeability. I also LOVE his first three films in the role. But if you look at the books, he doesn't fit the bill, and worst of all he is easily the least physical of the actors to play the part. It's hard to convince when you need a stunt double for scenes when all you are doing is running, or throwing a punch and this got even more pronounced as he aged. And the worst sin of all was playing the part at 57 when he looked like he'd been dug up, and could barely even walk quickly. How did they ever get away with that ? Oh hang on, they didn't did they ?

3. Never Say Never Again isn't a car crash. Poor old Connery, he's one of those people that aged very young, and he always looked 10 years more than he really was. So by the time that Diamonds Are Forever came around (which is appalling by the way) he looked about 50. Thus when he came back to the role at 52 one could only fear the worst. Now to be fair he is wearing a bad wig, and he does have wrinkles, but he is still pretty convincing as 007, certainly more than poor old Roger was at the time, who seemed to spend more time on his hair than on killing people.

4. Pierce Brosnan was brilliant, but the scripts he had to deal with (except for Goldeneye) were pathetic and ruined his tenure as Bond. Goldeneye is a stunning debut, but by the end he had an invisible fricking car. Arrrgggghhh !!!

5. Timothy Dalton was too nice for Bond. A great look and physical presence aside, he made Bond a bit too gentlemanly. Not wolfish enough in the love scenes and not ruthless enough in the action stuff. Great actor but more like Bond's dull mate.

6. The following films are crap; You Only Live Twice, Diamonds are Forever, Moonraker, A View To A Kill and The World Is Not Enough.

7. The following films are much better than I'd remembered; Thunderball, For Your Eyes Only, The Living Daylights.

8. The most beautiful Bond girl is Barbara Bach in 'The Spy Who Loved Me'.

9. The best Bond villain is Red Grant in 'From Russia With Love'.

10. The best gadget is the Aston Martin DB5 from 'Goldfinger'.

11. The best joke is 'There's no point in going off half-cocked' from Live & Let Die.

12. The best theme music is 'Live & Let Die'.

13. The best stunt is the ski jump in 'The Spy Who Loved Me'.

14. The Best Bond film is 'From Russia With Love'.

15. The Best Bond is either Sean Connery or Daniel Craig, I can't choose.

16. My favourite Bond is still Roger Moore ;)

And I promise I shan't talk about this stuff any more, unless of course I get a stream of comments disputing my choices.

When The Spanish Look At Me, This Is What They See

Spain isn't a very multi-cultural society. I'm not sure why this is, as I would have expected many people to want to live here. One reason may be that there isn't much work about and also that the unemployment benefit is very hard to get unless you've worked here for years. But whatever the reason, it means that they are a pretty homogenous lot. Dark hair, brown eyes and relatively short. Thus when one is a foreigner, one tends to stick out like a sore thumb that has been painted green and had fairy lights draped on it. Consequently one tends to get stared at. A lot.

When I first came here I found it annoying and rather tiresome. But after a while I got used to it, at least as much as you can do. There are still occasions when it gets too much, and some people gape at you open-mouthed as if you've just dropped your trousers and pants and are giving an anatomy demonstration to passers-by. And I haven't done that for ages.

What I tend to do now is stare back at them, which sometimes works, unless they maintain their fixed stare and eventually I look away feeling rather unnerved. I've also taken to saying 'I'm English, get over it' in Spanish in a rather loud 'under the breath' voice. But the truth is that for as long as I live here I'll always be an object of curiosity for some. Having said that I used to get stared at a fair amount in Britain so maybe it's just me (check out the photo to your right to see if I just look weird). But I do think that when the Spanish  see me they see Austin Powers or maybe a slightly cheaper version. And I would actually quite like to don a velvet suit and drive round the city in a Mini shouting 'Yeah Baby Yeah !' at passers-by. 

But I just go with it now, and remember the Oscar Wilde maxim that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. So I shall revel in my oddness, run my fingers through my blond hair, squint my green eyes in a 'damn you' way and be able to reach everything on the top shelf, unlike most people here. Oh, and I shall use cockney slang loudly in public. So if you're ever in Valencia and you hear someone say 'Shut It Sunshine !' in a fake Sweeney voice, don't worry, it's probably me.

A Final Word On Easter

I've had a rather nice time over the past few days. Travelling around the area, walking along beaches and getting a rather nice tan, Easter has been pretty good this year. Above is a photo of the very pretty and rather exclusive beach at Javea. Maybe only 30 miles north of Benidorm it may as well be on a different planet. There are no high rise buildings, no fish and chip shops and perhaps tellingly, no Brits. It is set in a lovely half-moon shaped bay, has a pebble beach and one of the nicest beach bars I've ever seen. As you can see the water is lovely and the general feel of the place is quiet and classy. Although I've never been there it struck me that this is what much of California must be like.

Spain has a bad reputation for tackiness. This is completely undeserved, but mainly due to the small number of places that the Brits have occupied and ruined. But there is much more to the country than that. There is style, elegance, humour and above all, great natural beauty. I feel privileged that the scene above is only a short drive from where I live, and extremely excited that a long summer now beckons. Yesterday morning I stood on a different beach, north of the city and looked out to sea. I was pretty much alone, the sea itself was a stunning light blue colour and I had a feeling of almost overwhelming satisfaction. All in all, not a bad Easter, and I realised that my adventures over here may only just be beginning.

This Is What I Like To Do At Easter

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am not a religious man. Thus, Christmas and Easter have only ever signified some time off work/school. When I lived in England I always found Easter in particular to be bitterly dull. It nearly always rained and there wasn't even anything special on the telly. But now I live in Spain, things are different. They celebrate their religious festivals even more solemnly here, but the setting is rather more pleasant. Easter here does not involve multiple trips to B & Q or 'having a go at the garden'. At least not for me.

Yesterday we popped down the coast to spend the day in Benidorm. This particular resort is one of those that has attracted a bad reputation down the years for being tacky and overrun by the Brits. But like all reputations there has been a certain amount of exaggeration. Yes the Brits are there in force and yes there are some tacky things, but what no-one ever mentions is the stunning setting that Benidorm is in. You can't argue with that sun, that sea and that view. Consequently we had a great time there and despite some tatty holiday stuff in certain places, Benidorm is better than you may think. Not only that but I had a full English breakfast for €3.60 whilst watching the sea. Not too bad, and it beats Great Yarmouth where I grew up.

Should The Death Penalty Be Available For A Stupid Haircut ?

We all know that hair can make or break a person. Having a silly hairdo is one of the best ways of all to look ridiculous. Of course losing one's hair can also be bad, but that's mainly if you try and pretend it isn't happening by doing the comb-over, or worst of all by buying a wig that looks like a rat that has been run over 8 times by a lorry and then glued on someone's head. Other hair crimes involve inappropriate highlights, cheap dye and nasty bubble perms. But surely the worst of all, the capital offence in this category must be the mullet. If ever there was a haircut that says 'please punch me repeatedly in the face, dismember my body and then bury me in an unmarked grave' it's the mullet. How anyone can march proudly into a hairdressers and say 'please make me resemble a squirrel' is beyond me.

Anyway, the reason I mention all this is because on the way home tonight I witnessed the best and worst mullet that I have ever seen in my life, and remember, I grew up in the 80's ! I was on the underground train, minding my own business and reading David Peace's 'The Damned United' (bloody good by the way). Then I glanced at some guy by the door. He looked non-descript and had a very short hair style, almost a buzz or crew cut. But then he turned to one side and a whole universe of comedy presented itself to me. Because down the back of his neck snaked a lustrous animal, made of purest male hair. I did a double take at first because my brain didn't properly process the information, as if it were looking at an optical illusion of some kind. So I looked again, and sure enough there it was, the greatest mullet on this small planet of ours.

Normally a mullet is combined with an elaborate thatch on top, sometimes with highlights that seem to shout 'look at me, I'm an idiot !'. But this guy was beyond all that, he'd taken the art of the mullet to its ultimate destination, a nirvana of idiocy. As I took all this in, two thoughts crossed my mind. One could I get away with taking a photo of him without getting myself beaten soundly. And two, how quickly could I find a computer to share this experience with you all. Well, I didn't get a photo, but I hope I have explained the full impact of this remarkable 'do'. And to answer my question, I believe that hair mishaps are a part of life and we all have our moments. But there are some exceptional cases so grave, so serious and so terrifying that I strongly argue for the restoration of capital punishment for them. And this guy would be the first one on death row.

The Local High Street

At last ! My cold has lifted and I have been to swim for the first time in 3 weeks. And my body put up a fight, what with aching, paining and general dizziness. But no matter, it'll have to buckle down again and be quick about it. This recovery has also coincided with the return of the sun here in Spain, which has been absent without permission for about 10 days. About an hour ago I took this photo on the 'Avenida' where I live, en route to the supermarket (orange fronted building just visible to the right). 

Yes those are palm trees and yes you may seethe with resentment if you wish. What you are looking at is the boulevard that stretches over a mile along the main shopping street and which allows a leisurely and relaxing walk to and from one's destination. In high summer those trees provide protection from the relentless sunshine and all year round they give the avenue a lush and tropical feel. But it is a nice little example of the thought that goes into city planning over here. In the city centre the same principle is applied albeit on a larger scale. Anyhow, just thought I'd share that with you and report that I am back in the land of the living. Until Thursday that is, when I'm off to a beach house for Easter. Oh, the sheer ruddy hell of it... 

Imagine That This Isn't An Ice Cream...

So it's a Sunday and I'm tidying up some old cookery books. I brought a load over from the U.K. because I like to cook and I've spent a few quid on these types of books in the last few years. As I was lugging the Ramsays and Olivers to their new shelf I came across a stash of Nigella Lawson materials, furtively stuffed away in a corner like a collection of porn. For those of you who don't know the lady in the picture, said Ms. Lawson is a famous TV chef in Britain. And despite the fact that she is pushing 50, she's still a beautiful and sexy woman. This sexiness is clearly not lost on her, because her TV shows are provocative, flirtatious and sensuous. The way she licks a spoon is the kind of thing that you watch on your own, hoping that nobody will walk in on you. She denies these intentions, and says that if anyone finds her programmes sexy then it is entirely accidental. Yeah right Nigella, then explain to me the intention behind the above photo ?

Her books are the same, filled with photographs of her, often engaged in licking, sucking or fondling activities of a similar type. And thus when I invested in some of those books, I felt the need to hide them away in a corner just in case my wife might guess why I'd really bought them. But now I feel I must confess. When I (and millions of other men) watch Nigella whipping cream we aren't thinking of spreading it onto a sponge base. It's as if there is an unheard narration of moans and groans as she cooks, and every time she looks into the camera with those large brown eyes it's at us men. 'Imagine' she seems to say 'that this isn't a spoon that I'm licking'. 

To be fair, the recipes are excellent and different, but her popularity works in a rather different way to that of say Delia Smith or Martha Stewart. And I know whose work I prefer.  

Tired And Confused

As the ever luscious Brit Gal Sarah has pointed out to me, I haven't been around much lately. In fact I've only posted twice in a week, and one of those was to talk about cheesecake. This is probably my leanest period of blogging in months and it's nice someone noticed, because if I'm honest, I didn't . This is partly because I've had the worst cold that I've suffered from in years. Over here I normally swim, eat fruit, bask in the sun and otherwise make everyone I know secretly want me to fall under a bus.

But my cold has lasted nearly two weeks. It has cost me work, sleep and my tanned visage. Not only that but I can't exercise and I worry for my 6-pack ambitions. This illness has also handily coincided with my busiest ever time at work since I emigrated. I have new classes coming out of orifices normally reserved for the basest human functions. This means standing in front of groups of strangers and being chirpy and upbeat. A little difficult if you've spent half the night coughing up your spleen.

As for my net activities, they've been restricted to staring disconsolately at Twitter and realising I can't even be bothered to come up with 140 characters, and to giving bald and probably inadequate replies to e-mails from dear and cherished friends. But now, now I am feeling better. On Friday I shall be stripping down to my underpants and plunging into a pool of warm water, and that is when I will be officially better. After that, you can expect the inane spew of drivel that this blog continually produces, to resume.