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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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