Making an Effort

I'm feeling guilty. Yeah, I am. I should be writing about the incredibly important world events that are taking place - the banking crisis, for example. All that mis-management finally coming home to roost with catastrophic economic results across financial markets and elsewhere.

I listen to economic analysis on Radio Classique as I come back from taking my eldest to school. I'm listening but am I concentrating? Hmm... I'm also trying to navigate my way around dense traffic on dodgy roundabouts, and sit in traffic jams making sure I'm with it enough not to just go sailing into the car in front because I thought it was moving off. Easily done.

So I'm listening with only half an ear, the other half forming part of my 'Get home in one piece' brain activity. I've duly noted the rescue plan of $700b which was rejected, and has now been accepted by the Senate. I'm hoping that failed executive bankers are not going to receive their 'Get out of trouble with a $5m mercy package' but rather a good kick up the backside which is what they'd give their employees if they did something really professionally bad.

Then there's Sarah Palin, for whom ambition is everything, and short-sightedness not confined to her sight. If I were American, the mere prospect of her taking over from a defunct McCain as US prez would have me running for the ballot box with the biggest marker pen I could find and printing the blackest most indelible black cross next to Obama's name. America is in enough trouble as it is without yet another puppet prez at the helm.

As it is though, I can't really talk about any of that stuff because I'm in mourning. Our Helena (Frith Powell) has left France and moved to Abu Dhabi. Her husband accepted a job there (with Colin Randall?) and so, before the kids 'became totally French' they decided to bugger off, leave 'the' Languedoc and head for the desert.

Not sure why she refers to Languedoc thus. It's like people who say they're going to The Gower, when it's either The Gower Peninsula or just Gower. Languedoc is either The Languedoc Region, or just Languedoc. Would you say 'I'm going to The Essex'? Only if you were going down the pub, I hope.

Anyway, you'll be relieved to know that our Helena is taking with her her new found discovery of the joys of wearing matching undies, and that, living next to M&S in AD she'll be able to indulge her passion, although I presume she doesn't mean in the white cotton maxi knickers section...

She'll no longer be able to write about how perfect French women are, pandering to Daily Mail readers, and how much like everyone else they are to The Times readers who are not so dupe...

Once I've got over our sad loss, maybe I'll be able to get down to concentrating on world events...