An idyllic afternoon on the Ponderosa. The only sounds were of chirping birds; and bees, buzzing. Butterflies appeared in the margins. OK, the temperature wasn’t exactly scorching, but it sure beats the hell out of winter. Warm enough for me to break out the BBQ - our first of the year. Days like these make you grateful for everything you’re not: a Pakistan cricket coach; junior doctor in need of a post; or member of a boarding party, late of the Shatt al-Arab waterway.
Then again you could be a member of England’s football team. Sans Sky Sports I’m tucked up with the wireless, a slice of Mrs G’s apple cake and glass of grappa, listening to Rooney et al struggle in Israel. Still to atone for the World Cup, this week’s stories of Beckham jealousy beggars belief. A hundred grand a week and they still perform like a bunch of nancy boys. Better than bent cricketers, you may say; but that’s scant consolation. I’d swear some smart Alec from the terraces is playing Èl Degüello on his bugle.