Reveille, but in Italian

"Right, off you go."
“Right, off you go.”

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment), rousted me out of a warm bed at dark-thirty this morning, thinking I needed to be earning my keep by following Milan-San Remo.

I explained that I no longer work for a racing magazine, but he simply yawned and replied: “It was time you got up anyway. Wake me when lunch is ready.”

Dopey

'Tis a bitter pill indeed.
‘Tis a bitter pill indeed.

It’s Monday, and my social-media feeds, as usual, are full of football.

Frankly, I’ve never understood how the rabidly antidoping cycling crowd can go so gaga over the NFL. It’s an inconsistency that I find amusing, like listening to a vegan extol the pleasures of watching a good cockfight on Sunday afternoon.