Being an ex-cartoonist has become rather tedious. With no deadlines to meet, my days drift by without event. From the moment Sopwith, my butler, knocks at my bedroom door with a generous Buck's Fizz, it has all become rather mundane. A breakfast of kippers, kidneys and scrambled eggs does little to lift my mood. (This morning, Sopwith had failed to pepper my fare and I damaged my wrist trying to operate the grinder). I find little solace in my lunchtime bottle of Medoc and, quite frankly, my pre-dinner gin and tonic no longer whets my appetite for the roast grouse and Beaujolais that follows. After several Napoleon Brandies, I must admit that an hour or two playing croquet on my lawn helps ease the pain. (I find the more bandy-legged of my staff make excellent hoops). Anyway, I suspect I'm no different to the rest of you out there.
