Family business

Today, and on several previous days during this sojourn in SoCal, the Old Scrote has played soccer on the back lawn with the three munchkins. I never last very long, but try to engage in some fancy footwork before the fatigue kicks in. And I do pretty well, given that I can always sit on the opposition if the going gets tough.
On Sarah's recommendation, I am taking a daily dose of something called Rhodiola, a herbal energy-booster which was given to Russian soldiers to help them win World War Two. Clearly the effects had worn off by the time they went to kick ass in Afghanistan, but I am prepared to give it a good go. This afternoon I even scored a goal, albeit while the opposition lay injured. But you gotta take your chance while it's offered, right?
As has no doubt been announced in the British media, it is my birthday on Tuesday, and I have no knowledge whatsoever of the surprises being planned, including seasoned pork chops with broccoli, a chocolate cake, a bottle of champagne and a nice bird book which also play birdcalls.

It's a hectic life here, folks, and I am putting all my faith in Rhodiola. And some fine Cabernet Sauvignon that the Mexican ladies at Gala insist on selling to me. Benedicus benedixit.