I’m writing this column on tenterhooks. “I knew you had to be on something,” muttered the sports editor with a withering growl. The reason for my current state of nail-nibbling anticipation is that I’m awaiting the arrival of another son.
The fact this back page has a full complement of words splattered across it, however, means that there was no white smoke yesterday. With the birth imminent, I had visions of getting halfway through this weekly waffle and being interrupted by the kind of howling and wailing you’d hear when a werewolf performs an exorcism with an angle grinder. The general agonising will just have to be reserved for you lot trudging through this.
