As I limp towards the finishing line of this challenge, I find myself having to cast around for the smaller, overlooked, glories of life.
In this instance, those glorious animal pleasures most sensible men keep to themselves when women they haven't already nailed are around.
"But you and I we've been through that and this is not our fate" as Dylan would have it, and the older wiser me doesn't even notice he's burping, is prone to involuntary farting, and often finds himself in polite company distractedly scratching his balls.
When I sit in the conservatory I'm akin to a gorilla in the zoo...
I'm sure I hear Bobby tutting sometimes. He's so middle England.
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