Poop on Piers

For my birthday my sister got me this Piers Morgan toilet roll. Here I am sitting in the bathroom on the cusp of using it. As he’s, bizarrely, been a voice of some reason in recent months, there are a few other faces I’d prefer to wipe my bum with at the moment. Usually though he’s a pontificating idiot who is completely unaware of his own privilege. Note that the only subject on which he’s been making a semblance of sense is on the government’s handling of coronavirus. He remains a prat in most other scenarios.

Today we got a big meeting out of the way for which muggins here had to do lots of the preparation and talking.

As I cycled in the evening it was freezing fog territory, and strange webs of moisture formed on my gloves. My face hasn’t felt so cold for a number of years. My phone advises me that the Portuguese word for fog is nevoeiro. A nice extra bit of vocabulary although I hope that when I finally make it back to Maputo I will never have to deal with freezing fog.