I’m a little bit stressed tonight. I’m stressing about the Pepys Motet, about the fact that I spilt more soy sauce on the carpet in the sitting room, and that I suddenly feel there’s a million things to do, and no time at all to do them in. There’s dry skin peeling off my palms. None of these things ought to be presenting me with stress. They’re silly little pointless worries, but I guess the definition of stress is not being able to find a way to prevent oneself from sweating the small stuff. I think what I need is a holiday!
Today is one of those days where there’s really not a great deal to say. I had a look at the news to see if anything there would trigger a thought…
- The Houses of Parliament is apparently falling down, or at least sinking into the Thames. MPs have been told they may have to move out for a period. I suggest we turn the entire building into affordable housing which Russian oligarchs are banned from buying, and set up an English Parliament in the City of York.
- A load of posh people are wondering about Ascot in fancy hats today. Apparently there’s been a trend for wild-life inspired head gear this year. Sadly, the women on the pictures I saw all looked like complete nincompoops with enormous teeth.
A capybara mustn't be mixed up for a cassowary, which is the evil, prehistoric Australian bird who tried to kill my friend Philippa.
This is capoeira
And this is the sinister Katoo from the children's programme, Playschool: