Real life

If you’re Eric Pickles, please look away now. I think it only fair to warn the Secretary of State for local government, in case he happens to be reading this in a precious moment of relaxation, that I’m about to have another rant about the catastrophic events that unfolded after one of his advisors sent me a text message while I was riding my horse one Sunday afternoon. For those who don’t know the back story, this thrusting young spin doctor, probably thinking he was being really on his game in a retro-Alastair Campbell sort of way, attempted to monster me for a news story I had written which he took exception to. As his own office had briefed me the story, I took exception to this. Indeed, I became so cross that I rang him back and at the precise moment I did so my horse trod on an old rabbit bone which penetrated her foot and sliced into a crucial tendon.