I am not a man of the cloth. Three hail Marys at a perceived indiscretion are not for me, and neither is admitting my sins in the confessional, although I believe in live and let live and more power to your elbow if you are one of the flock.
A petition was started recently by disgruntled Tube passengers. Those last three words are perfect bedfellows, in the vein of Ant and Dec, chips and gravy or Rhubarb and Custard. This time however, the DTPs weren’t complaining about the usual commuter gripes of high fares, shoddy services or the work-shy, strike-happy staff body.
Well I have managed to hang onto the wreckage for another week and so I hope you have also as I enjoy your company. I must admit I am once again hooked at weekends to the return of Strictly Come Dancing and the viewing figures have been huge, even without many well-known celebs taking part this year.
I’VE often thought: I wonder what Jimmy in Widnes has had for tea and I wish I could see a picture of it. Through the power of Berners-Lee’s t’internet, my digital craving has been suppressed through the medium of Facebook.
