Fnaar Fnaar

It’s late, I’m tired. And I’ve only switched the PeeCee on because there’s something on it that I need for tomorrow’s meeting. And I used my emergency pre-written blog a couple of days ago.

So – at the risk of sounding like something the actress might have said to the bishop – you’re going to have to put up with me dashing a quick one off before bedtime.

And speaking of actresses, have you noticed that these days they’re calling themselves “actors”? I know that in olden times, “actress” was a euphemism for “tart”, but things are a bit more enlightened these days. I can see the point in de-sexing terms like “manager” – after all, it doesn’t matter if the “Technical Manager” is a man or a woman, or at least it shouldn’t. But in jobs like actressing, it must still matter – you wouldn’t ask a man to play “Charlie’s Aunt”, would y…ah, hang on, I think I might be on dodgy ground here…

I don’t have anything equally insightful to say about bishops, except that “Stinking Bishop” is actually a jolly nice cheese.

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