Desperado

No no, not me - hoo-ray. And thank you all for cheering on the sidelines and offering morself (lol a typo there, but I am going to leave it, tipping my hat to Freud) of encouragement - it meant the world. It seems that several litres of Adams Ale and a good night's sleep can make the difference.

Anyhow, needed a way to kick that last post of drivel to the kerb (or at least lower on the page) and thank goodness the television stations have come through for me in my hour of need.

No longer am I required to flick desparately around the cycle of 5 channels in the hope of seeing something to catch my attention - once again they are vying for my trade.

Admittedly, many years ago I was a-wake up to the television stations tendency to frock up like tarts at this time of year - mainly because I worked in an industry where I had to know which trick was likely to garner most public support and therefore most bang for the advertisers (and in the dark ages, that meant my clients) several thousand bucks.

As a result, I have a gift. I can digest a television schedule at a single reading and regurgitate it days later.

And due to the tendency of V and I to value our time together, there are programmes selected for addiction value quality, and programmes disdained for their clash with the former ability to lower our IQ threshhold.

Tonight was the first night, and again Monday nights hold that most beautiful ritual - ardently watching Desparate Housewives together.

Or rather, again Monday nights hold that most beautiful ritual - ardently watching Desparate Housewives, laughing hysterically at moments while V snored peacefully to my left.

The good news is that Tuesday holds another beautiful ritual - me retelling the whole darned thing to V.

Its really a good thing he has me, isn't it?