Like the The Grand High Executioner of The Mikado, I've been making a little list. It's what I'm a tad fed up with, and it goes a little like this:
1. People calling Prince Philip a Nazi. He wasn't, okay? He fought AGAINST them. His sisters might have had husbands who were Nazis, but that doesn't make Philip one. Sure, he was a bit like that worrisome relative with no filter that we all have, the one who can be guaranteed to say something inappropriate at the family barbeque, but it doesn't mean he was a Nazi, m'kay?
2. The conjecture about Harry and Megan. Nobody knows what's going on within the family dynamics, so just let them grieve in peace, m'kay?
3. The fuss about Jenny Morrison's circled fingertips. Sometimes, a circled fingertip is just that, m'kay? Do people seriously think she'd be silly enough to do a white power gesture in photographs when she's the wife of the Prime Minister? She's possibly a nail biter. She's possibly a compulsive nose-picker and is in the process of rolling a freshly plucked booger at the time the photograph is being taken. Those last two theories make more sense and require less tin foil on the chapeau, believe me.
4. My knee. It's going along okay, but on Holy Thursday I was emerging from my car and - HOLY MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED - the knee and surrounding area were KILLING me! Despite the holy day, the pain was most unholy, as was the language and invective with which I let fly. At the moment it is what my physiotherapist calls 'grumpy', and that demeanor is being reflected in its owner. As part of treatment, I have been applying surgical tape prior to exercise and work. I am certain I have ripped and applied more tape to my knee in the past week than I have to Christmas presents over the past five years. It's getting better, but I don't anticipate performing the Can-Can any time soon.
Speaking of the knee, it's time for me to do my physio exercises and make a cup of tea. Cheers, dears.
