Rien ne change, sauf le prix.

as my old french maid used to say

An afternoon’s TV racing might be just what we all need after this week.

I fear I have accidentally stepped into another dimension, somewhere between Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams - except little of it is funny.

Yesterday’s giggles started with the BBC doing an undercover investigation into corner shops selling crack, weed and laughing gas (not a pot of Patum Peperium to be found anywhere), and in every shop is an unpleasant, aggressive asian youth acting as the front man. A White Woman of uncertain age and personal hygiene habits was running the bando, though it might have been a trap house. Yes, I know what you’re thinking; I speak fluent Lingua Hoodie, but what is