I can't make the football match this afternoon, the first I've missed this season, as I've had severe stomach cramps all morning and caution is the key word, rather than spending a few hours at the Olympic Stadium with its less than rudimentary toilet facilities. Oh, and it looks like rain, which belted down for an hour yesterday lunchtime and flooded the whole city. I've still got a chest cough, that's been hanging about like a bad smell for over a week now, so all in all, I'm doing the usual manly thing and feeling very sorry for myself. No-one else could care less. Added to that, my cleaner Det, who is excellent, has handed in her notice and will be leaving next week. Damn, damn, damn. Cycling to my house three times a week is not doing her weak heart any good she tells me. Ah, okay then, good point. She's the 5th cleaner I've had in the last three years and they've all been especially good. My female friends say I should get married so my wife can look after me, which is the usual course of advice anytime I'm under the weather. Four of them have offered, but I'm not sure if that's to be my cleaner, or to be my wife!