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Saturday 4th September
Woke up this morning and lazily flicked the brush around the mug,
worked up a dollop of shave goo, and stared moodily at the old face
in the mirror. I age, I age! Up late last night looking for cans of
Indian pudding on the Internet, trying to relive a treasured taste
memory of childhood. This may raise eyebrows, but actually should,
on the face of it, be easier than locating a lost sled. No luck.
The tourists leave on Monday, taking most of the hemisphere's t-
shirts and hats with them, thank God. This past week kite-boarding
and wind-surfing with JK has been hell. At one point he started
wriggling around on his board, moaning piteously, and begged me to
unzip his wetsuit and check his backside for a suspected roaming
tick. I demurred until he ordered a Secret Service agent to draw his
revolver and train it on me. No tick. However, America's female
voters and, given the times, many males, will be delighted to learn
that the senator currently features what is known by crotch-waxers
everywhere as a "Brazilian" tuft. It certainly makes it easier to
envision myself pulling the lever for him in November.
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