Don't let the bastards get you down. The fish rots from the head. Tomorrow is another day. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Welcome to my world. I am buffeted by bastardy and the fish smells off, but today is indeed another day and it hasn't killed me yet. Today I am to play golf with JRS and that is as good a leisure prospect as a man can ask for. My plan is to have salad for my tea (a short burst of healthy eating before I depart for Ireland at the weekend) and then early to bed (a short burst of healthy living before etc).
What's going on in the world? I gave up on the indecipherable Jamaica Inn on the BBC - it says much for the peculiar liberal snobbery of those in the arts that actors should be allowed (indeed were presumably encouraged) to mutter their way through their lines in impenetrable accents. No doubt the show will go on to garner tons of luvvie awards. Bollocks. Which is a pity because I like a bit of Daphne du Maurier. Did I ever mention that I played Maxim de Winter? Oh, I did, sorry.
I'm really looking forward to the Ireland trip. Ireland is a land I like to romanticise as lacking in the aforementioned bastardy. That is probably deluded but for a week I will act under the happy opinion that mendacity and low cunning do not thrive there.
I am rediscovering the joy of listening to full albums rather than submitting to the iPod temptation of shuffle. In the car I listen to entire albums. Thus far I have worked my way through all the early Steely Dan offerings, Pete Atkin's Driving Through Mythical America, Billie Holliday and John Lennon.
Well that's all for now. I must prepare myself to fight the unequal battle against golf. I have, as ever, a new cunning plan - I will share it with you if it works, so don't go holding your breath. I've also got a new pair of golf shoes. Wish me luck.
Don't let the bastards get you down
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