Sitting in the waiting room at the hospital so plenty of time to blog, tweet and catch up with emails. After a successful eye operation earlier in the year I am booked in for follow up surgery. While the initial procedure went well, a slight correction is required as apparently I am squinting too far to the right as the general election approaches.
I seem to have upset the BBA (British Banking Apologists) with my comments last week about its chief executive, Lotte Shight. Apparently she didn't say we should all "move on" from the banking cock-up. This was a quote wrongly attributed to her by the press and then repeated by popular satirical news programme Have I Got Paraphrased News for Those Who Believe Everything They See on the Telly. OK, Lotte, I am prepared to apologise but stop whinging about it eh? Move on, darling, move on.
I also decide that perhaps I should retire from Twitter as there is too much unpleasantness and bad puns on there. However, my big decision provokes little reaction, other than "well sod off then" which is bloody typical. When Stephen "national treasure" Fry gets a little grumpy and threatens to stop it is BBC news. When I do it, nothing. I even have to set up my own "Save Robin Bogg" campaign. But people need to see the bigger picture. Twitter would soon fold without me and my 167 followers.
My spirits are lifted, however after a stroll by the Thames. I have an excellent lunch at the Ponce de la Tour which is of course where Bill Clinton once had an overpriced steak with Tony and Cherie. This gives me a shameless opportunity to include a picture of Bill with the umbrella I gave him in New York recently.
Note that I am not in the picture as I am taking it. If I were to be in it as well it would look suspiciously like I had asked someone to record the apparently casual and unstaged moment for posterity.
While this is a spurious reason to include a photo I think I can do better. I muse upon the journey of the Thames to the sea and how the seas join the ocean and if you keep going you might land up on a Pacific island where the natives are head hunters, just like my good friend Donald Holding (click on the link for a reminder of what he can do for you as I rarely mention it myself).
Admittedly, Donald's publicity material is a little basic. It was designed by someone he headhunted (Oxford graduate, naturally) but unfortunately their strengths were in poetry not graphic design.
Speaking of poetry, Blacbury looked splendid at the weekend as it was pissing it down. The whole town was like to bubbles when rain pelteth (I don't want to be patronising and arrogant now but I am going to be anyway - rain pelteth is a poetic allusion to those schooled on the national curriculum and so unaware of poetry. Obviously only those of us who have had proper education could possibly even begin to hope to enjoy literature.)