... though fortunately there is golf. I played a couple of indifferent rounds recently, but I'm feeling a bit tired. Must be brave tomorrow, because we are playing our annual four-ball match for the Queen's Birthday Chalice (it's an old pewter mug that I donated twenty-odd years ago, but a posh title makes it worth playing for). That's at Clive's club, out in the boondocks between Tunbridge Wells and East Grinstead, so a bit of extra driving called for.
Then a Veterans' team event at Sheerness next Friday. I said there's not a lot going on.
I have a beef stew bubbling on the hob, the first for months. It's getting to be that time of year. There's a touch of heating on as well. Never mind, it will be Spring in six months.
Arsenal have just massacred Blackburn, and at the moment Chelsea are beating Liverpool. I wish I could care. But Burnley won again yesterday - much more important.
Had a chat with Uncle John. He has acquired a Jack Russell puppy which of course bites his slippers and pees on the carpet. He is very pleased with it, probably because he has never had children so it's a novelty.
I tried to have a nap this afternoon, but I find it difficult to nod off. Must try harder. Yawn.
