20th March 2011

Normally English TV is a good antidote for my depression. However, I've learned to restrict news bulletins to one a day. 
Yesterday my football team lost, so I watched the Rugby, only to see England lose to Ireland. Then, flicking through the channels - typical Saturday night rubbish - left me watching Dad's Army. I dozed off, only to wake suddenly and think I was still in war-time.  I blinked and struggled to wake up my senses as I scrabbled myopically for my glasses. In the foreground was undoubtedly the Elysee Palace in Paris, but there seemed to be a mix of historical figures standing on the steps between the gothic pillars.  The tall fellow to the left looked like the stately Charles de Gaulle, back erect, weak chin and sharp nose.  In the middle was, strangely, Napoleon!  Very short, arrogant stance, tiny feet, dark-haired and well turned out. Standing behind was none other than Winston Churchill.  Must have been him with that shiny bald head, short stature - and I'd know that voice anywhere.  I strained to hear him say '..we'll fight 'em on the beaches...' but the sound was too low for me to hear.  And, standing next to de Gaulle, was that Margaret Thatcher in the pink jacket and handbag, being wooed by that small 75-year old Italian Casanova?
Clearly I must cut back on all that Gaillac wine!