True confessions

Some throwback of religious feeling in me must be at work. It's Sunday morning, so time to confess two shameful secrets.

1. In spite of, well, everything I still find Caroline Flint very attractive. Look at that lovely face, that faraway look, that beautiful shiny shiny hair. Mmm.

2. A decent interval has passed, so I think I can get away without being lynched when I say that I couldn't stand Clement Freud on Just a Minute. I'm sure what he did was clever, but it wasn't funny. An example of someone persisting in rubbish so long they earned national treasure status. (See also, not that far away, Nicholas Parsons.)

Now, to act out an even older ritual, I'm going to have a bath.