I went to a party. Not unusual; the unusual part was that, as I needed a clear head for the following morning, over two plus hours my drinking comprised three 330ml. glasses of zero alcohol beer.
It felt good. It also looked ok, as no one was going to interrogate me as might have been so in my having eg a lime and soda. It also gave me a perspective on people slowly getting 'merry'.
I should mention the taste of these beers. It's not that they taste like beer - they are beer, just with no alcohol.
I woke the next morning morning with a clear head and feeling dead virtuous. Can I repeat it? Much depends upon the occasion and expectation, but I can tell you that hangovers (principally from disturbed sleep) are horrible once you reach Late Life. And if I need something that I can nurse as a pint, Guinness zero (seriously) does the job.
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I am back to running on the Heath. As we are in school holidays it is quieter, and even the dogs seem more gentle. I think I have written before about dogs needing a name with consonants in order to pick up a command, and how a couple futilely called 'Ian' to come out of the water.
In my grumpy time when brainless canines got in the way, I fantasised about buying a dog and naming it Hitler, so I could shout across the grass 'Come'ere Hitler!'. I don't think that Hampstead types would be impressed.
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As a few people might know, I have a modest interest in the Italian language. Italian produces some gorgeous words, so I give you, for convoluted or tortuous, 'arzigogolato'. Fun, innit?!
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The sad thing about the Olympics is that 2024 and 2028 had to be divvied up between Paris and Los Angeles, as other cities withdrew due to the stupendous cost of putting on the show (perhaps only Emmanuel Macron's Mount Olympus-sized ego allowed France to commit to this year).
The happy thing, other then medals (don't we love bronze). is when broadcasters boo boo. So to the closing stages of the Men's Triathlon, which of course I was watching as an exception to my boycott of non-sport weekday daytime TV. The cameras had given up on GB's Alex Yee, he floundering around 100 metres behind the meaty New Zealander on the 10k run who was powering towards the finish. Suddenly a breathless commentator, to the effect: '...and Alex Yee is closing in and is only 20 metres behind!!'.
Yee passed the meaty New Zealander and cruised to victory. How much it was the New Zealander slowing we will not know, as coverage needed to move quickly to break dancing...
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I felt I had to give The Hundred a go. (If this makes no sense, then please pass to next item). I was meeting two friends from school to see London Spirit in action at Lord's. We started with a civilised lunch at the Ivy Brasserie in St John's Wood High Street, in order to avoid the six pints before start of play merchants.
There is an afternoon women's match and an evening men's match. Tickets were apparently sold out so, having fixed to meet on short notice, we were at the highest point of the ground at the top of the Compton Stand. The view was splendid, although we couldn't see the ball so needed to rely on guesswork.
All enjoyable - mostly for the company. Am I bothered to discuss the cricket? Not much - the batting is largely slogging mixed with scampered singles; in fairness the bowling is skilful, generally directed to stopping the batters from scoring runs.
By 8.30pm the men's Spirit were well on the way to losing. It was getting colder. We decided to call it a day. End of account.
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The Swifties are in town. I am proud to live not that far away from Kentish Delight, apparently her favourite kebab shop. But I was also entertained by being in the City on the day of one of her concerts.
The fans poured off the trains at Liverpool Street: 'Why is that eight-year girl wearing a five-year old's party dress?', I initially thought. Ah...'
The kids looked wonderful; the accompanying parents for the younger ones looked plain embarrassing. No more to be said, as I would venture into several 'isms'...
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More joy. The Today Programme features a 72 year-old man hitting stardom as a curator of electronic dance music. But how to segue, as next comes the (usually) dead hand of 'Thought for the Day'. And today it's a special, the flat, soulless, gravitas-infused tones of God-fearing writer Rhidian Brook (although in fairness he does seen to be rated for being wise and thoughtful).
I wondered if Mishal Husain could try: 'And now it's time to bring you right down with Thought for the Day, and today we welcome....'. Sadly, it was a neutral segue.
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Eminent retired Rugby Union referee Nigel Owens on the radio, discussing rule changes. This is about a Welsh turn of phrase. Responding to a question about why a particular change had been made, he said: "I'll tell you why'. Suddenly I heard Uncle Bryn.
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If you are a sourpuss, here is my prescription for getting out of the state, at least for a short duration: go see Abba Voyage. That's it.
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Remember when the prevailing mood was that pensioners (many aka Baby Boomers) had had a good economic run and should be willing to take a little more pain in order for younger people to be better supported.
That was the theory. Now the practice of what happens when one if us is personally affected. Like losing the Winter Fuel Allowance, although the restriction to pensioners claiming Pension Credit is looking too severe (partly as it appears that hundreds of thousands are entitled to Pension Credit but do not claim), and commentators like Martin Lewis have suggested a more suitable middle of the road eligibility eg via entitlement linked to lower Council Tax Bands.
So the truth is that, and I am the same as everyone, despite whatever high-mindedness we have, we look at any change ro see how it might affect us. That determines how far we are bothered.
I'll give you an unrelated example. I saw a map showing where would be the Government's priority areas for new towns. I live in North London so I am not generally bothered. But I like walking in the Chilterns. So I looked straightaway to ensure there was no sign of impingement there. Of course not - no-brainer - but I still had to check.
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Oasis are re-forming. Oh wow. Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money....... Oh yes - it's really about the music.
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It is approaching 11pm. I am holding 7.5 lbs of baby (ounces are apparently out). He has the bewildered look of being assailed with new sounds, sights and smells, which is forgivable as he is 28 hours old.
My minor part in Operation New-Born was to collect mother, father and child by car from the hospital. In today's NHS a discharge at 10pm is quite acceptable to the institution - the upside was that hospital and car park were quiet.
Despite exhaustion the parents were magnificently calm and organised; of course I am biased - they are my daughter and son-in-law. The only minor casualty was my bald bonce, slightly grazed while I was closing the electric boot lid in the car park (it was dark), so in the first Grandad and baby photo I look as though I have just come off the field after 80 minutes against Saracens.
There has been a tsunami of well-wishing messages from friends and wider family, including from one friend undergoing chemotherapy - there you have character in someone's generosity of spirit.
Not everyone has children, let alone grandchildren, so I do not intend this to be triumphantly egotistical., But I can say that the arrival of this small person has made a lot of people very happy.
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The author is a writer, speaker, historian, occasional tour guide, and former Managing Partner of a City law firm.