Indignity

There was an, er, incident, on Sunday night. I can't possibly reveal details for fear of being stalked by Albanian gangster toms, but suffice to say it left me somewhat shaken.

She Who Controls The Can Opener naturally got hold of the wrong end of the stick and, after fussing far too much over me the last few days, carted me off to my private physician. There, I was prodded, poked and forced to endure the indignity of having a thermometer - no, I couldn't possibly say where. All this followed by two very unpleasant injections. It's a poor show when a gentleman's propriety is thus invaded. Fortunately my natural good manners meant I would conceal my discomfiture.

I am finally back in the privacy of Wordsmith Towers, where I shall lounge on the sofa tonight in resplendent comfort and partake of a little light entertainment on the TV. I shall also be expecting some of Her smoked salmon and posh chocolate. I know She has some - I just need to find out where She has stashed them...