The Rise Of The New Man

Our more seasoned observers will have welcomed the return to the commentariat of that beacon of reason Viperjohn. We wish him a prosperous new year. You may gather that Viperjohn is a man for whom the adjective vituperative might have been invented but before my liberal readers hasten to condemn him, let me tell you a few facts about the man. He is one of my closest friends and I happen to know (from the privileged position of professional involvement) that he puts his money where his mouth is. My dear you simply wouldn't credit it, he actually employs people in businesses that make things. How unfashionable. How bloody laudable. I also happen to know he works his bollocks off which rather puts the Overgraduate to shame. And he can take his beer, boy can he take his beer. And he's effortlessly better than the Overgraduate at golf, the bastard.

All of which in a rather round about away gets me to today's point because what I am about to say will, I suspect, confirm him in his belief that I've gone soft in the head. Here's the thing - for the past couple of weeks I've tried to be a Monday to Friday vegetarian. I do this not for any reason of conviction but because I thought it might just be a way of stimulating some post-Christmas weight loss. News flash - if you start from the point of being a greedy carnivorous bastard who eats too much, this system can work. Hero of the experiment is the world's best vegetable - the humble leek. There's lovely.

But here is a promise to Viperjohn. In late April will come a day when we dine on Sea Food Chowder, followed by gargantuan King Rib, rounded off with a proper man's pudding and swilled down with the black stuff, a sauvignon blanc and, what else, a robust rioja. We will talk eminent good sense throughout. And we will be temporary kings.

I've just realised that my spell-checker recognises neither sauvignon blanc nor rioja. I'm sacking it.