I forgot to mention, I have finally been granted Permission To Sit in Romania. In fact I am now the owner of a very fancy looking dark green booklet entitled "Legitimaţie de Şedere Temporară Pentru Cetăţeni Străini" Which means (roughly) Temporary permission to sit for strange citizens. I am very glad about this, as having to constantly stand or lie down was beginning to wear on me.
The booklet is actually deceptive, as from the outside it looks quite offical and impressive - like a small passport, actually - but when you open it up it looks dead rubbish. Cheap paper with lots of information about me in very bad handwriting (not mine, better than that, but still crappy looking). Some bloke at the police station just filled it in when he felt like it (we handed all the paperwork in at the beginning of December and he said it would be ready between Christmas and New Year. We popped in on the 30th to see if it was done, and he said "Oh, it's you. Hmmm. Yes it'll be ready tomorrow morning". He then obviously went off and filled it in and stuck my picture in the correct place).
Ben
No, not Michael Jackson's pet rat from that crappy song, but my new nephew. He was born in November and I met him on Boxing Day. He's dead cool. Even though he is not even two months old yet, he has already been selected for England at football, unified quantum and newtonian physics, and written a book of poetry which the Times Literary Supplement described as "Breathtaking". He's currently appearing as Prospero in the RSC's production of The Tempest.
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1 comment:
Thank you very much. I would like also to point out that since Ben’s birth he has been appointed as personal advisor to Paul Sturrock, and in this capacity he has:
Engineered our exit from the FA Cup in order to concentrate on the league (within 10 hours of birth)
Achieved a return of 19 points from a possible 27 (including games against the first and second clubs in the league)
Masterminded the signings on loan of Kenwyne Jones and Joey O’Brien.
A request has also come in from Duncan Fletcher for him to go to South Africa to revitalise the England cricket team. Mr Fletcher saw him as an ideal number 3 batsman and leading strike bowler who could strike fear into the hearts of the Proteas. Unfortunately, on this occasion, his mum won’t let him go.
And you're right, he is dead cool.
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