Over chez-moi, I have pledged to keep my media analysis down to a minimum. I've been obsessing about Bryony Gordon from The Telegraph, my new mate Tasha and Kate Silverton for ages. That doesn't mean I can't do it here.
Stan knows about my deep-seated love of Kate Silverton, or, as I like to call her, the third Mrs Y. I've been metaphorically vying for her affections with an ex-colleague (R) for quite a while now. I think R would need a better sense of humor and humility to start knockin da boots with Kate. I think I am in first place at the moment due to the fact I have actually had an email from her. She's about my age but infinitely fitter -- she did a bloody triathlon for God's sake. Stan maintains that she has static eyebrows. I have seen them move, once. Even when she's giggling her socks off, they never seem to move, so I guess Stan has a point. No matter, the third Mrs Y is garjus.
Uggg. This post was brought to you by the most virulent strain of flu I have ever been subject to.