Pastures new

I'm nearly in heaven. I'm not there yet, but it's damn close. On Friday Lady Miros and I left the bog end of nowhere for good, in exchange for a variable mortgage and a terraced starter home in the Elysian fields of Wokingham. Wokingham is one funky place. Anywhere with a sprint handicap named after it is my kind of town.

The real joy of Wokingham is that I can now get broadband, Sky, delivery pizza and Racing Post, plus there are at least 10 very reasonable pubs within walking distance. A long summer of horseracing, baseball and inebriation await. Hopefully the blog may even be updated more often as well. Then again, perhaps not. I am, after all, phenomenally lazy. Perhaps you people should find something more productive to be getting on with. Do none of you fuckers ever work?

Next week I'm off to the Dordogne to gorge myself on foie gras and vino. The life of me. I think I deserve a holiday, it's been a tough few weeks for me. I even had to get up at 9.30 the other day to accommodate the Sky Guy. If I have to do that again I may well have an aneurism.

Incidentally, if anyone can think of any interesting options for my stag do, let me know. The problem with having no mates is that I had to choose as my best man the only sicko in the world even lazier than me. As such, he's struggling to come up with something fun which will also entertain a disparate bad of gamblers, university friends (mostly homosexual) and general drifters. Ideally, there should be very little gambling involved. Or homosexuality, for that matter. Any suggestions would be gratefully received.