Some of you may or may not be aware that I do a podcast most weeks.
A group of us [Irish and American] get together and discuss [for want of a better word] whatever takes our fancy.
Jefferson Davis, who runs the podcast always starts with a series of stock questions, which I always forget about, so I’m always unprepared. One of those questions is “What are you reading at the moment?”
I had to do a quick bit of research on the Interweb [or else go running around the house like a demented ferret] to find out what I was reading. I found it. It’s a book called “A Spot of Bother” by Mark Haddon [he’s the one who wrote “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time”].
“A Spot of Bother” is described as
George, 61, is clearly channelling a host of other worries into the discoloration on his hip (the “spot of bother”): daughter Katie, who has a toddler, Jacob, from her disastrous first-marriage to the horrid Graham, is about to marry the equally unlikable Ray; inattentive wife Jean is having an affair—with George’s former co-worker, David Symmonds; and son Jamie doesn’t think George is OK with Jamie’s being queer. Haddon gets into their heads wonderfully, from Jean’s waffling about her affair to Katie’s being overwhelmed (by Jacob, and by her impending marriage) and Jamie’s takes on men (and boyfriend Tony in particular, who wants to come to the wedding). Mild-mannered George, meanwhile, despairing over his health, slinks into a depression; his major coping strategies involve hiding behind furniture on all fours and lowing like a cow.
It’s a very funny book, and I sang its praises on the podcast. But I put my foot in it.
I’m talking about “George” and how he is so much like myself; that he is retired and everything is going wrong around him; that his daughter has just announced her engagement to a bloke he hates.. and so on.
The podcast went up on the Interweb this morning, and I listened to it [purely for editorial purposes of course. I hate the sound of my own voice]. I suddenly realised, to my horror that I gave the impression that I hated my daughter’s choice of boyfriend. Woops. Not true. I like The Accidental Terrorist. We get on very well.
So, TAD. If you ever get to listen to the podcast [which is unlikely, as you’re on dial-up], I was referring to being retired and bewildered. That’s all.
The rest of the programme is taken up with discussing whiskey [and how in my opinion, bourbon is gnat’s piss] and taking the Michael out of British Royalty, for which I make no apologies at all.