I may have given the impression during the existence of this ‘Blog that I am something of a nerd, but I’m telling you, people: you haven’t lived until you’ve pulled up outside the best hotel in town in a written-off car with the front bumper howling as it scrapes on one of the tyres; handed over the keys for a valet to park it; and set off for an evening at a boxing match with two hot chicks—a blonde on one side and a brunette on the other, naturally—followed by drinks until the small hours.
Anyway. No one was hurt; I’m back home in one piece; and my car is a cube. If anyone’s looking to sell a Lotus Elise, I think my time has come. I never went looking for a mid-life crisis, but since one has been forced upon me by the government (and underwritten by your taxes) I might as well go with it and share its pleasures with you all. I’d already signed up for the hair loss and the tortured reflection upon my role as a man in society today, but I intend to substitute Abs Of Steel for the beergut and a menagerie of computers and musical instruments for the family of mystified dependants. There is also an ongoing vacancy for the position of my PA.
Because I have a lot of things to sort out today, and I will be doing them all on foot, there’ll be nothing new here until this evening. Catching up, I notice that Norm has been on excellent form this weekend. This post in particular is a delightful attack on a widespread strain of idiocy, with a great punchline. And the Nick Cohen observation he draws attention to matches exactly something I was saying over my little weekend, er, break to someone who writes for one of the finest publications on the planet. It is far, far more depressing to see one of your friends adopt the language of pseudo-scholarship than it is to see them get Jesus. At least you can argue with an evangelical Christian.