What’s the answer when you have a string of ideas for a blog post and not one of them is fully-formed? Steal an idea from one of my favourite columnists, Bob Crampton in The Times on Saturday and merge them all into one.
So..... why did the lady who took my blood test yesterday fail to find more than a thimble-ful and thus have to resort to the other arm (and twice the pain) when Mrs W, a trained children’s phlebotomist, found the middle of the vein instantly when I told her what had happened?
Why did I take my eye off the online order form for a split second, so that a dress Mrs W has bought online from a well-known High Street chain will be delivered to a house ten doors down - and why is the occupier of that house on holiday for a week during Easter?
How do I explain to Mrs W why I put my hand up when a friend was looking for someone to take 14 years’ worth of CAMRA’s monthly What’s Brewing magazine off his hands? And why have I stored them on the top shelf of my wardrobe, convincing myself that at some point in the next millennium, I will get round to reading them?
Why are Tamworth stumbling towards the finishing line of the Blue Square Premier season - and who decided that the Telford away game, abandoned in a monsoon on Bank Holiday Monday, would be replayed next Tuesday, when I will be in Northampton all day at a British Naturism marketing committee meeting and unable to get to Shropshire in time?
Why have Facebook unilaterally changed the design of my page without telling me? And yes, I know I get a valuable social networking resource for nothing, so why am I complaining?
Dominic Littlewood - why?
Why did I stay up until silly o’clock on Sunday night watching the play-off of the US Masters and drinking red wine and whisky?
Why aren’t Dr Feelgood, Ian Dury and the Blockheads and Wilko Johnson more widely acknowledged as musical geniuses?
Why did my Easter weekend pass by in a haze of furniture polish, carpet dust and cat hairs?
Why has it taken 25 years for one of my local pubs to wake up to the fact that it needs to advertise its wares outside the village and try to attract custom from the ‘posh’ side of Tamworth?
Why have I allowed my briefcase to accumulate two years of ‘stuff’ which is undoubtedly important, but which I never read and probably ought to throw out?
When am I going to complete the aforementioned throwing-out?
How proud am I at having filled an A3 sheet of paper with ‘things to do’ this week and almost having completed the job by 9.30pm on Wednesday?
Why, after 20 years, do I still not have a plan for making sure I read the Saturday and Sunday Times by midnight on Sunday - assuming, of course, that I have already thrown all the advertising nonsense, as well as the property and motoring sections, in the bin?
And talking of the Sunday Times, why haven’t I shared with more people A.A Gill’s fantastic description of Alan Sugar in last weekend’s paper? For those of you who don’t know Gill, he writes the restaurant reviews in the Style section. Unrepentantly London-centric, he can spend 800 words discussing anything but the restaurant before approving of/condemning it in the final few paragraphs.
Last weekend, he was talking about a restaurant in Essex into which the supremo of The Apprentice has put some money; in the course of which he offered up this. “Alan Sugar, a man who looks like an angry testicle....”
As several people have said since, they will never again be able to watch The Apprentice with a straight face.
