Lord I was off to a bad start this morning. I was anxious to catch up on the night's cricket so I put BBC1 on at 7am hoping that in the half hour that I designate to breakfast and 'coming to' I would see the score and highlights. Did I bugger. I grew a different shade of purple with every passing block of five minutes. Whilst that Bill Tumble (or whatever it is) was bumbling over a report about Russian spies I flicked over to ITV to see the final snippet of Kevin Pieterson - I was incandescent with rage. I gave up at 7.30 and ran my bath.
By the way, all this about Russian spies and radiation poisoning. Am I missing something? If what I'm led to believe from James Bond films is true, then passing away in a hospital bed is preferable to some of the ways these dare devil agents might meet their death. I saw one once where James Bond was tied to a table with a laser moving between his legs about to cut him slowly and painfully in half. I would therefore plump for radiation sickness any day. I bet he got a private room, digital tv and 24 hour care. I bet he didn't get a senile old man walking about at night trying to get into bed with him either.
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