Vespidae, bankers and rain

I'm not having a particularly good day. Whilst out on my morning run, I managed to inhale a wasp. Seriously unpleasant, even if I was able to gob it out before it managed to inflict any damage. I then completely and utterly failed to finish the work that I need to get done for Monday morning. It looks like I might be forced to break my home/work separation rules and try to get it done over the weekend. Why did I fail to get my work finished? Because I had leave in time for a meeting with my man at the bank. What should have been a trivial appointment to tweak a few bits and pieces turned into a grueling two hour finance-a-thon. When I finally left, it was raining and I got totally soaked.

Like I said, not a good day.

The Grauniad position

A couple of weeks ago, it was John Crace's amusing abridgment version of Sleeping Around. Today it was Lucy Mangan's analysis of the latest guides to sex aimed at the cash rich, time poor. It seems as though it is no longer possible to lay open a venerable organ like the Guardian without discovering a veritable cloaca of filth. In order to demonstrate my disapproval, here's a particularly amusing quote from La Mangan:

You could, alternatively, move to Australia. It worked for our Barbara: "I began using several of my favourite tantric techniques to circulate sexual energy between me and Sydney. Before I knew it, a little blissgasm shivered up my spine, followed by an actual clitoral orgasm ... I was so amazed, I had to stop and lean against a wall." The tantric beginner is advised to start off slowly, perhaps with a short walk through Filey and a good cough.

I wonder where on the scale of difficulty expectorating in Exmouth falls? Answers please, on a post card, to Kenneth Horne, 78 North Horseposture Road...