Dear Diary: Home again and not a moment too soon. The dead-tree media have been having a field day with pictures of Hillary living la vida loca at some Cartagena dive while chugging a bottle of Colombian rotgut. A Brit newspaper is asking if Hillary is becoming an embarrassment. Becoming? Then came the fuss about my referring to the Falkland islands as the Maldives not the Malvinas which upset the Albanians who claim it as theirs...Oh wait ... maybe it's the Argentinians. Whatever. All this in the wake of the mortifying Secret Service debacle. I asked Jarrett and Axelrod to arrange for the senior executives of the Secret service to be coated with honey and hung by their wiggly bits over the South Lawn beehive. I can hear their cries as I write. Music to my ears. I must get a grip... Time to say a prayer to myself, close the laptop and so to bed. Marv has slipped Boo-boo my blankey under my pillow. I will cuddle him and try to ignore the noise outside. Not that I'm a vindictive person. Maybe ants will find those bastids during the night and slowly pick the flesh from their bones. Not that I'm a vindictive person. Far from it. Barry love Boo-boo...um-num-num.
