Beaverboosh is unwell.
He exceeded his own standards of excess at my sister’s wedding on the weekend.
True to form, in his charming and erudite manner, he managed to insult almost everyone at the wedding with his ever so subtle rudeness. He’s such a flirt.
He consumed excess quantities of champagne, claret and cognac over a two day period, not to mention the marathon Marly light consumption.
He has not been able to speak for days. The gods have spoken. I am getting a bit of peace.
His prognosis is uncertain; he thinks he has swine flu. I am not sure about the flu bit.
I reassure him daily he will live. Men are such babies when they are ill.
Mrs. Beaverboosh
Showing posts with label Ill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ill. Show all posts
Friday, May 1, 2009
Saturday, January 26, 2008
All Good Things…
… must come to an end. They have universally conspired to come to an end in January.
I have been lying ill in bed for the past week, sweating… freezing… coughing… I fear it is consumption. Mrs. BB tells me it is over-consumption. My run of good health has come to an end, as have many other things.
My poor health is my own fault, other things unfortunately I have no control over.
Following the merry making of the holiday season, we had visitors in the mountains. Loads of skiing and more merriment prevailed. Major Pom and Atticus are two very good friends from London who could not resist inventing new yoga positions with Girl’s very fit yoga teacher.
The yoga was practiced mostly after midnight, when it more was difficult to stand or balance, lying splayed on the rug in front of the fireplace. This newly invented position called the “starfish” was most illuminating. The “kissing starfish”, involving one yoga participant doing the starfish on top on another was even more illuminating.
It is the first time I have seen young men so keen on yoga. The red wine and aquavit had begun to take its toll.
Girl and I moved on to a road trip in the Alps. A metre of powder at Le Grand Montets at Chamonix on the glacier d’argentiere and we were spent. I had the strength of Montgomery Burns. I could hardly raise the fork to my mouth to sample the Michelin starred delights in front of me. My claret was supped with lifeless regard. My situation was clearly deteriorating.
On to Verbier, blue skies, good conditions but no powder. Verbier is not as chi chi as St. Moritz or Megeve, but is a favourite with Brits, Norwegians, and now the Russians. You can be assured that when the Russians arrive anywhere, bling and bad taste go large. The streets are congested with even more Range Rovers driven by peroxide stick icicle queens. I avoid the $10,000 USD cocktail at the new chavtastic Coco’s. In the end, I settled for LemSip, a blanket, and a sofa by the warm fire. The end is nigh.
Whilst on my deathbed, offline, incapacitated and hallucinating, the global stock markets dumped, a deal I have painstakingly fostered for 11 months heads south, and…and…
Poor me!
The sun is shining today. We are expecting new visitors this weekend in the mountains. I have stopped coughing oysters. My deal looks recoverable. The stock markets are largely irrelevant and present great opportunities.
Thank god I was born contrarian!
I have been lying ill in bed for the past week, sweating… freezing… coughing… I fear it is consumption. Mrs. BB tells me it is over-consumption. My run of good health has come to an end, as have many other things.
My poor health is my own fault, other things unfortunately I have no control over.
Following the merry making of the holiday season, we had visitors in the mountains. Loads of skiing and more merriment prevailed. Major Pom and Atticus are two very good friends from London who could not resist inventing new yoga positions with Girl’s very fit yoga teacher.
The yoga was practiced mostly after midnight, when it more was difficult to stand or balance, lying splayed on the rug in front of the fireplace. This newly invented position called the “starfish” was most illuminating. The “kissing starfish”, involving one yoga participant doing the starfish on top on another was even more illuminating.
It is the first time I have seen young men so keen on yoga. The red wine and aquavit had begun to take its toll.
Girl and I moved on to a road trip in the Alps. A metre of powder at Le Grand Montets at Chamonix on the glacier d’argentiere and we were spent. I had the strength of Montgomery Burns. I could hardly raise the fork to my mouth to sample the Michelin starred delights in front of me. My claret was supped with lifeless regard. My situation was clearly deteriorating.
On to Verbier, blue skies, good conditions but no powder. Verbier is not as chi chi as St. Moritz or Megeve, but is a favourite with Brits, Norwegians, and now the Russians. You can be assured that when the Russians arrive anywhere, bling and bad taste go large. The streets are congested with even more Range Rovers driven by peroxide stick icicle queens. I avoid the $10,000 USD cocktail at the new chavtastic Coco’s. In the end, I settled for LemSip, a blanket, and a sofa by the warm fire. The end is nigh.
Whilst on my deathbed, offline, incapacitated and hallucinating, the global stock markets dumped, a deal I have painstakingly fostered for 11 months heads south, and…and…
Poor me!
The sun is shining today. We are expecting new visitors this weekend in the mountains. I have stopped coughing oysters. My deal looks recoverable. The stock markets are largely irrelevant and present great opportunities.
Thank god I was born contrarian!
I really must try to make it into the office, people are beginning to wonder.
Beaverboosh
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