Desperate Times for Desperate Dan ran a headline, which had nothing to do with Dan Snow, but had everything to do with the strong man of The Dandy. I was so relieved that our Dan and the lovely Lady Edwina were not suffering in these times of austerity, though I’m sure that Daddy, The Duke of Westminster, could always forward them a little loan by increasing his parking charges. So, fear not, Dan, you can have as many cow pies as you wish and -goodness knows-you need to keep up your calorific intake, what with all that physical and mental activity that you indulge in. I suppose you could have earned a little bit more by taking on the airspace security at the Olympics. There would have been savings to be made if we had foregone the Typhoons and helicopters and you could have shot down any terrorist planes with your pea- shooter.
The couple who have just won £148 million on the lottery say that they want to make a difference and repay past kindnesses, so maybe they could make a donation to D. C. Thomson of Dundee and keep the comic going to inspire future generations.
Postboxes all over the country are being painted gold, in honour of athletes who won medals of the same colour. Sometimes the postal authorities are wrongly identifying the home towns and local fans are being arrested for getting out their Airfix enamels and gilding more appropriate receptacles.
This happened in Lymington, which was home to Ben Ainslie for a longer time than was his Cornish childhood base. Reporters from South Today flocked around our quadruple winner and he received drawings from schoolchildren who had been coaxed out to scream their enthusiasm. Again, Ben would have been advised not to appear with children, as when one little girl was asked if she had been watching him on television, she said, No! very firmly. The reporter turned to a little boy in the crowd and invited him to share what he had been feeling when he saw Ben sailing into the harbour and he replied very honestly, I don’t know.
Ben then terminated the in-depth analysis by saying, Thanks, guys.
There was a minor news item about heart patients in Buenos Aires being introduced to Tango. I thought it was a reference to that crude advertisement for the fizzy orange drink where people were mugged and then told that they had been Tango-ed. Then I realised that it was an introduction to dance exercise as cardiac rehab. I know that if my husband was offered a few sessions with the fulsome Flavia through his BUPA membership, he’d be sliding down the razor blade of life in next to no time, allowing her to set fire to his tie or to raise welts like nobody else. She and Vincent have a website where you can book yourself in for a few lessons, so maybe choosing hubby’s Christmas present won’t be so difficult. I could always keep Vincent Simone of the curling eyebrow amused during the lesson and could pass him off as my festive gigolo. We could practise a few moves to the Olympic video, Don’t Stop Me Now! I could become his Flavia of the Month.
© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012