The sweet taste of distraction

I went to see Ted today, which is almost as good as having therapy, and much cheaper.
His son Simon has got tickets to the Mens 100metres Sprint final at the Olympics. Apparently he’s already been offered two thousand pounds for them. Ideally, he says, he wants to swap them for tickets to the Champions League final in May, as he thinks it’ll be an all-Spanish affair and he wants to see the two best players alive go at it head-to-head. All of this information, by the way, is lost on me entirely.
Beryl says she may have to change her cooking habits as ‘Ted’s sugar levels are off the charts’ and the doctors are concerned about diabetes and something else that I’ve now forgotten. Ted has reacted in his usual sanguine fashion by saying “What the hell do doctors know? You might as well pay attention to the budgie”
Everyone else in the room pointed out that if it wasn’t for doctors he’d have died last year and he said “Pah! That’s just a coincidence”
Beryl says she’s going to stop making sauces with butter and opt for a healthier low-fat diet instead. No more cakes or biscuits, either. Ted has already asked me to buy him a stash of Drifters and keep them at ours. He has a long list of excuses to pop over, apparently. Knowing Ted, he’d compiled that list before he even left the doctors….

RC 8-3-12