Voice. Over

MIA for the past couple days because, after transcribing the tapes over the weekend, I got sick of the sound of my own voice. Rather, I don’t like the sound of my own voice. (Every other component part is obviously just ace and skill and combines to form a golden god).

Although I’ve gotten to know the Actress over the past couple of years – first in a working environment and then socially – it began more as a conversation to put her at ease, which meant there was more of me on the first tape than in a typical interview situation.

The next time we meet up I’ll say a lot less, for my sake.

In the meantime, when I mentioned the Actress “started out in the last dying gasps of the studio contract days” and mentioned she had just over a decade on me, dear Lara assumed it was a far more bygone age and asked what skin care routine I followed to still “look fantastic”. Obviously looks can be very deceptive.

This morning, towelling myself down, I noticed a streak of white on my chest. Assuming it was split toothpaste I went to rub it off and discovered my first white chest hair. Worse still, over on his blog English Dave passed on the information that the average of viewers of Midsomer Murders, which trounced the opening episode of Holby Blue in the ratings, is 61 years old.

I know, you’re probably reading this with your mouths open, aghast. After all my lip about current British dramas, I watch Midsomer Murders? Absolutely. Why? I’m afraid I'll have to leave that for another time.