Comic strip...

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Yesterday was spent mostly recuperating after Saturday's mini Tour de France which Miss R talked me into. I'll be honest with you, movement had to be kept to an absolute minimum as the cheeks of my derriere were hurling abuse at each other, and my thighs, if left to their own devices, could crack a walnut unaided.

She was most attentive all day, keeping me plied with drinks, pizza and suntan cream; I can only think that guilt got the better of her and she was doing everything she could to get back into her sister's good books.  Naturally, I adore my sister, so she's never out of my good books, but I decided to milk it for all it was worth, even letting her make me a cup of tea when we got back to the room.

We spent yesterday prostrate on a couple of loungers in the Beach Club like two well oiled slugs, flicking the pages of the magazines which Miss R always brings along.  I always have a bit of a problem with Miss R's choice of literature as it errs on the side of crap.

I had two hefty tomes downloaded onto my Kindle for the week.  She had Chat and Take a Break, two adult comics printed on paper which leave hieroglyphics on your thighs if you rest them there too long in the heat.  They are crammed full of stories of people who have had something terrible happen to them, with the only course of remedy being to tell the world for £250 and fifteen minutes of fame. 

But my favourite had to be the Psychic Special with its tales of haunted houses and possessed family pets (a particularly disturbing tale about a retriever of all things).  Flicking through this in utter disbelief, I wondered who was more daft.  The people claiming to have been 'touched by an angel' (that happened to me in 1984 at a New Year's Eve party while I was dressed as Mother Superior, but we don't need to  delve further into that particular tale) or the gullible fools (Miss R) who part with money to buy the damn things.

Anyway, it set me thinking as to why she reads this trash rather than something a little more highbrow (Woman's Weekly, The Angling Times or The Racing Post would be a vast improvement). She is a very classy lady is Miss R, so why doesn't she read more upmarket periodicals?  Perhaps it's the Jeremy Kyle effect.  You know, when you watch something purely because you can't believe that there are people who live their lives in that way.

It's a bit like me and TOWIE I suppose...


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