Happy Monday. Do you live in London? Good luck: Barack O'Bama, the Chelsea Flower Show and Ed Miliband's wedding. I recommend walking. And, should you encounter a busker with an accordion, do smile encouragingly, as today is the 182nd anniversary of that splendid instrument, which was invented by an Armenian living in Austria, even if it is sometimes known as the English Concertina. My favourite player, always excepting Rolf Harris, naturally, was Cherry, a grandmother who used to perform in Blackpool with nothing on. She also played the xylophone, but found the accordion the most challenging, as you could give yourself quite a nasty nip if you weren't careful.
You will have read about the German insurance company organising an orgy for its salesmen. Here in Kensington, obviously, the company prefers rather more imaginative activities. Over the years, we've had the Circle line relay race, Imaginary Paintballing, Five-a-Side Philosophy, and Fun Picnics featuring Hunt the Executive with the Sandwiches and Where is the Corkscrew Buried? I've thoroughly enjoyed all of them, apart from that unfortunate incident involving the Crossword and Fashion departments at the Gregorian Chant Karaoke Night.
Danish sperm donors, I note, are becoming increasingly popular with British women; to assuage worries about the excessive import of stereotypical Scandinavian seriousness, here is my favourite joke from Denmark: two men are lost in the Sahara. One of them is wearing skis. The other chap asks him why, and he replies: "In case it snows". There. And don't forget that Lars von Trier, either. Or Sandi Toksvig.
Should you be a liberally minded motorist with Energy interests suddenly looking for a fresh opportunity, might I suggest Venezuela? There, a driver has just lost his licence for speeding, which is the first time such a thing has ever happened. Mind you, Ramon Parra, 41, did have one of his six wheels propped up inside the bus at the time. Up the Amazon, meanwhile, the Amondawa tribe are said by investigating anthropologists to lack a concept of time. Not something, I suspect, that will survive too much contact with anthropologists. Happy Monday.Reuse content