It's A Bank Holiday

Two thirds of May's rain falls over the weekend, blighting the bank holiday. As if there was some drama here. The Met Office issues 14 flood alerts around Kent, Sussex, Surrey and London. I spend my yesterday at a football tournament in poncho and wellies huddled beneath an umbrella and shivering with the other dads. We drink coffee from white Styrofoam cups to try and stay warm (in the background, on the radio: Chelsea and ManU slug it out for the Premier League title - one point separates the Blues from the Red Devils with one game remaining). The boys have a good time racing back and forth on astro-turff pitches playing five-a-side. Never they mind the weather. Madeleine cranks out her home work for tomorrow as I write.

Last night we go to a fun party in Notting Hill celebrating Paul and Simon's birthday. A chef prepares sushi while others serve champagne. We mingle with an abundance of attractive, well groomed, people while the women's long legs pointed with toe wedges showing manicured, coloured, toe nails. We chat with Natalie and Justin, who completed last weekend's London marathon in 3:51, which is a rocking time for his first go or any go. Plus he enjoyed the experience which has never happened for me - at least, after 22 miles. B.. o.. n k. Edwin, meanwhile, is in France where rumour has it he finished inside the top-10 in the men's European duathlon championships. Sonnet looks her usual radiant self and I am a lucky man to leave with her. We drive Puk and Lars to East Sheen and home and we are delighted that the bought a house, Friday, not too far from us.

Me: "What are you doing?"

Eitan: "I am jogging [in place] to get some exercise."

Me: "In your bed room?"

Eitan: "I am going to do this until 9:30AM while listening to Capital FM." (it is 8:48AM)

Me: