It is, as I start to write this, 7.23 pm. At about 8.15 pm I shall take myself off to an Open Mic night. There to beguile the ladies, not only with my looks, but also with the rich dark velvety, mellifluous tones of my singing.
I have been likened to Elvis Presley at times. Also Johnny Cash. Actually my vocal range is so huge that you could possibly compare me to any great singer. But the truth is, and I hope this doesn't sound too immodest, I am a better singer than any of the so called 'greats'.
My extremely handsome son George told me just this morning that I would easily win Britain's Got Talent, because I have, and I quote, "the best singing voice he has ever heard, that is the truth Dad. Honestly. God's honour Dad. OW! Dad. Stop twisting my arm up my back. Dad you'll BREAK MY ARM! OK DAD. SIR. YOUR MAJESTY. YOU ARE THE GREATEST! Let go NOW! LET GO DAD, OR I'LL TELL MUM. LET GO. I MEAN IT!".
You just cannot get a greater accolade than that from your own son. He is such a sweet boy.
Well time is getting on. Must dash. Mustn't keep the ladies waiting.
Isn't it lovely news about one of my blogging lady friends coming to my party? What a long way to travel just to see me. I hope she's not after my body! What. You didn't know?
See you later!