3635 days ago
Last night we were watching an old episode of Foyle’s War where the murder was of a four month pregnant woman who “fell down the stairs”. But old Foyle worked out that she was pushed by her boyfriend who was not the father because he was in hospital when the baby was conceived and also because the father really fancied Foyle’s son. Simple really.
I mention this only because I slipped and fell down the stairs today. Foyle has been over and has confirmed that this was not some fiendish scheme devised by a blinkx shareholder who wanted to up the ante from stalking and death threats. I did just slip.
My fall was arrested by my foot getting wedged in the banister. One railing was broken and the toes on my right foot are bruised and still hurt. It is an excuse to stay in all day – bar a trip down the road to stock up on cartridges for the e-cigarette – and perhaps spend the afternoon watching another Foyle.
3637 days ago
A treat last night: two episodes of Nashville to catch up on. That, and a delicious thyme chicken and grilled vegetables prepared by the Mrs – what more could a man ask for? Normally on such a TV fest I would nip out during the commercials for a fag but as of last night I am on the e-cigarettes and, as such, there was no need to move for my commercial e-fag break.
After all, an e-cig is odourless and all it emits is water vapour. There is no question of passive smoking. And so as Viking River Cruises tries to persuade us to book into a cruise down the Rhine for some wife-swapping with 90 year olds, I take a drag on the e-cigarette.
“Why can’t you go outside for that?” said the Mrs. I despair. So reviled is anything to do with smoking in the UK today that I expect this is a common reaction. It is enough to make me take up smoking Marlboro Lights again.
Fear not. I have not. Tonight’s Eurovision Party (heaven help me, it is friends of the Mrs) may be a tester but my resolve is strong.
