I have a superpower. It is not as impressive or useful a superpower as I might have hoped. I'm afraid that it is not even as impressive as the modest superpowers I dreamed up for myself in later years.
(There were two. One was the ability to pickle things with a glance, handy for times when one has a cucumber but pines for a kosher dill. Steve recently pointed out that this one would in fact also be a formidable combat ability. Being pickled would hurt, possibly fatally, and even being figuratively pickled all in a single blow would probably put you out of commission for the duration of any altercation. The other one—forgive me if I've already mentioned it here—was the ability to put a cap in someone's ass. Not in the usual colloquial sense of shooting him or her, but causing a bottle cap to materialize, wedged uncomfortably between the target's buttocks. This strikes me as a particularly good vengeance to lay upon obnoxious drivers.)
But, anyway, this isn't a story about the superpowers I wish I had. It's a story about the superpower I do have. And that power is the ability to recognize Tim McInnerny, aka Lord Percy Percy, at superhuman speed.
As soon as he appears on screen,
"It's Percy!" I cry, and lo, it is. Last night, though, I outdid myself. Here we are 4 minutes and 52 seconds into an episode of Hustle:
4 minutes and 53 seconds:
4 minutes and 54 seconds:
Let me tell you, it is truly glorious to be among the super-powered. How sad it must be for the rest of you, trapped in your sad, mundane worlds of what is merely humanly possible. Well, you can still dream.