The Scarlet Temptress

It is dashed tricky, this blogging business. Dashed tricky. I know it's the perennial lament of anyone who foolishly entangles themselves in ethereal sermonising (or journalising, or whatever) but nonetheless true for all that. And the harsh truth is that for those of us whose life does not revolve around the glass demons of the difference engine, making time to share the choicest fruits of one's musings is...well...dashed tricky.

And of course I am a man with much to do . I have been particularly busy over the last few days advising my friend Vladimir on...well, perhaps I had best not go into that. Suffice to say that I have had many calls on my time, not the least of which has been the relentless requirements of the cherry-red siren that is my ukelele.

She is a stern mistress, but rewarding beyond all imagining to those who serve her loyally. Oh, she was coquettish at first. She would shriek and struggle, squall like a cat and pout and sulk...but eventually she succumbed and then we made music together....beautiful, if somewhat unreliable music. Until a chap has caressed a soprano ukelele in the privacy of his study...well, sir... that man knows nothing of passion. Suffice to say that I have invested in a case for the little minx in that most seductive, most sultry, most sensual of all materials...stout tweed with a brown leather trim. And people say we British are unsophisticated in matters of love. Pah!

Obviously such an item is available only from speciality establishments.It was expensive, I suppose...but what of it? I can deny her nothing.

Nothing!