I’m pleased as chips today. Firstly, that august organ The Times published a big picture of me looking terribly cold in the only vaguely photogenic location in horrible, horrible Woolwich. I am more than happy to be the new face of paranoid schizophrenia.
I’ll come clean and admit that I am on page 69, so I have plenty more work to do before my visage gets slapped across the front page.
The second ego augmentation event, that I’ve just this moment found out about, is that my favourite wine discussion board, Wine Berserkers, have honoured me with joint first place in their informal tasting note of the year awards. It is particularly pleasing that my winning note, from this article on 2009 Burgundy, was an above-average bit of lewdness that reads:
“You won’t have as much fun with a bottle of Bourgogne rouge unless it ends with going to hospital to get it extracted.”
I’m rarely more satisfied with a post than when I can fit in some schoolboy-level sniggering at bodily functions.