The brutal disease of Motor Neurone Disease has struck Rob Burrows. The information hit the Rugby League community hard. He is a hero with a sparkling career in an all conquering Leeds team. The affection with which he is held is increased due to his physical size. At 5 foot 5 inches he’s a unique ‘giant’ in a sport full of exceptional specimens of the human form. The diagnosis is beyond cruel when you consider he is only 37 years old. In the various TV clips, of the game in front of 21,,000 fans, it was hard not to have a tear in your eye as he ran onto the pitch for the last 5 minutes. He certainly did.
Meanwhile back in Hollywood: Megxit. I’ve nothing useful to add to the spectacle of this negotiation other than it never seemed likely that their integration into the Firm would work out. Anyway one unedifying spectacle is that the Queen seems to have been a victim of this debacle. At 93 years old she’s been left to chair this divorce settlement after having been treated disrespectfully by the public resignation. She’s not at fault, why do this to her?
Anyway of greater significance is the reappearance of a hole in our living room ceiling. I sleepily slouched into the room before daybreak clutching my Special K last week to hear dripping. The water was trundling down the ceiling light fitting onto the sofa. The upshot was that the previously ‘repaired’ pipe had developed a hole elsewhere. The plumber knew where to make a ceiling hole and the pipe was replaced. I’m left awaiting another patch and then more bloody filling and painting of the ceiling. Deep joy.
This wasn’t my only tribulation with holes. On Christmas Eve I selected a soft mint from one of the car’s darker recesses and after gently biting into it I found a hard bit. Thinking this to be a bit of mint I extracted the offending particle from my mouth and jettisoned it out of the window. Shortly afterwards I discovered this particle was part of an upper molar. Fortunately this departing piece of tooth didn’t leave me in pain and a couple of weeks later I found myself in the dentist’s chair. The prognosis was not encouraging but in the interim we could effect a sort of ‘patch’ with more filling (added to the considerable existing amount) or embark on a proper job of root canal surgery and a type of crown. As a man impersonating a mouse I went for the patch. Let’s see how long it lasts. Pray for me.