Here I am modelling my fashionable 'all supermarket' collection, comprising clothes bought entirely from Sainsbury's. I look rather like the builders who congregate at the local pub at lunchtime, standing outside for a cigarette. Also in picture - plastic flowers, mandolin, Buffy comics, Slade CD, fairy book, and corner of table at which I write. And a backgammon set, which I haven't played for years, and am really bad at. I don't even like the game. I should throw it out.
And on the subject of supermarkets I was surprised to see a blog in the Guardian where a woman was complaining angrily about middle-aged men ogling her 18 year old daughter as they walked round the shop. She seemed quite irate about the whole thing.
Well really. I mean to say. If you can't ogle someone's 18 year old daughter in the supermarket, what's left? That's about 80% of my sex life, dammit. Hey, I didn't like your daughter that much anyway.
I'd better just spend my time lying on the couch instead. Yesterday I spent most of the day watching the Paramount channel. It usually shows reruns of old American sit-coms. I watched various shows quiet contentedly but became uncomfortable with their repeats of Frasier. I used to like that programme, but went off it when they introduced a bunch of English characters - Daphne's family - who were so objectionable as to be barely human. Quite what these characters were meant to be was baffling. Had the writers actually ever met any English people? They appeared to be escapees from some mental asylum, unable to either walk or talk like normal human beings. It really put me off the programme.
Right, I'm going to read my new Buffy comic and then I'm going to write something.