Mornings fill me with horror -
Cold, grey, wintry ones particularly so -
And when the cold grey tide of news
Issues forth from my radio
Filled with war, murder, hate, death,
Corruption, sleaze, and depressing reality
In the sardonic tones of Humphries;
Or the sorrowful lilt of Naughtie;
Or the overeager gloat of Davies;
Or the vainglorousness of Webb...
Things
Seem
Worse.
Yet there is one voice
Whose calm authority seems to soothe
And silently impart:
Yes, things are bad,
But don't despair:
There's still radio 4,
There's still me,
And if you make it till teatime, you can have comedy.
Maybe even,
If you're lucky,
Sandi Toksvig
Or Sue Perkins.
Of course, today I didn't even have to wait till teatime, because
Wordaholics was on at 11.30am, which is fast becoming a favourite of mine. I really hope it doesn't just stop at 6 episodes.
In other news, this morning I woke up in a different bed to the one I went to sleep in, with Roxy in succubus position on my chest, and with a black eye. I have no explanation for any of these things, other than the very general one of
Beer festival finished yesterday, and you might have had a bit much to drink, Jennie.
The black eye is particularly puzzling;
matgb insists I didn't have it when I went to bed, and you'd think I'd notice it occurring in the night...