Where are you?

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Where are you, Anna, in my hour of need?

I bet you were on the sofa with Clive last night, watching the opening ceremony of the Games.

I watched it. I thought it was spectacular. Yes, I know... the expense and all that stuff. And I was a bit cynical at first when I thought of how the money could have been spent: the homeless, the poor, the disadvantaged, the sick. And perhaps you could say it was a junket for the rich, the privileged, the powerful, but at the same time you had to admire the planning, the effort, the creativity the sheer exuberance of mind and spirit that had come together to produce last night's performance.


I am not, as you know, a particularly sporting type, and perhaps there could be some other way of demonstrating all that's best in human endeavour and achievement. But we've got the Games. So let's enjoy them.

(By the way... when your lot marched past I kept a look our for that sister of yours - whatsername - the weightlifter. Couldn't see her, though. Did she recover from that hock injury?)

My mouth is better - although you haven't asked - but I have been down and in need of support - I will not burden you with the details - but where is that support...?

I do my best, and yet am misunderstood by those around me. Perhaps that is the lot of the artist and visionary.

Still, I soldier on, uncomplaining.

Nevertheless it would be nice to know that someone cared.

George