Possibly your were still vegetating in your pit Sunday morning, the telly off. So you’d miss the excellent one-to-one talk show that was well worthy of a much wider, wide-awake audience. Fern Britton shadow boxing with Frank Bruno.
This should have been screened between, say 8 and 9pm rather 10am to 11 on the Sabbath, when it followed on from Professor Marr.
Fern’s guest this Sunday, Daniel O’Donnell. I’m hiding under the covers already.
Chest a minute, here’s an update from one of the bigger girls. Dolly Parton’s living with discomfort and a certain distress. Now openly admitting to her chums that even her support bra is cutting into her shoulders. She’s feeling the pain.
“My boobs are killing me and I don’t know if I can stand the pain any longer. My boobs have been a trademark but I’ve paid one helluva price.
“But I’ll never retire . . . like Mae West, I’m going to sit in a wheelchair with my high heels on.”
Bad to verse
Touching. Something to remember him by. Before he embarked for Tobago, Norrie Rowan thrust a paperback at me, thinking he wouldn’t get it past security. Exactly what my library needed . . The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam in Scots. It cot £8.99 in new money. All heart, is Norrie. Careful with that magic sponge there!
Afterwords . .
. . . My invitation to Orla Guerin’s whoopee Christmas party has arrived. Got your’s yet?