Well, here in Dubai I've had a pretty rough day because an evil New Zealander forced me last night to sample of couple of thimblefuls of amber nectar.
Being more of a Martinborough Pinot Noir man these days, followed by creamy Stilton and a light cigarillo, I perhaps had one or two more than I should have had, so I needed to concentrate a little more on my business dealings today, than perhaps I would have wished.
I blame Peter Jackson, for encouraging all of these New Zealanders to believe that they are all Men of Gondor or Dwarfs of the Iron Mountains, therefore able to quaff flagons of strong ale before striding out to deal with Orcs.
Ah, well, Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva.
Fortunately, because it's nearly the weekend here, we all managed to slip down to the beach by 3pm, to soak up a few rays of lovely November sun and to get the beach butler to bring us down a few cold drinks, to quench our pre-Orc quest.
So fear ye not, fellow seekers of Mordor's ultimate Leviathanesque destruction. Things aren't too disastrous in Maturin World, today.
Now, after my bath to wash off all of that salty sand, surely it's time for a stiff one before dinner?