This one has me puzzled, the bloke over the road right, the one that lives next door to Taff. No not that way the other way, with the big silver car, yeah now you've got him. What's he up to? He's out all day, I assume at work, I mean I'm no Poirot but it's a fair assumption that one isn't it. He's not there, the cars not there, from around 8.30 to 5.30, so I reckon he's gone and got himself a job. You are with me this far I take it. Right, well here's the puzzling bit. Most nights between say 6 and 10 he's in an out of that house like I don't know what, off somewhere quick in the car then back again. He's usually "away" for between 5-15 mins and then he's back. No sooner has he reversed onto the drive and popped into the house than he's back out again. Last night between 9-10 he "popped" out no fewer than eight times. He could be running a plate-less taxi firm from home I suppose, one that never gets a journey of more than five or ten minutes, but that seems unlikely. Or he could be the busiest serial killer in the world. Or are we talking "herbal" substances? Should I inform the police? Go over and bite him? Or go round whilst he's out to see if there's a millionaire's daughter imprisoned in a fifty foot excrement covered pit in the living room? Talking of pooh, I've had three today. The last one was a real "cleaner-outer" - you know the sort. I'm surprised it wasn't more terrier shaped than that actually. God I'm hungry.
Me Dad was busy doing a website for someone or other, he'd been at it for hours the poor lamb, with me sleeping dutifully at his feet. How was I supposed to know that the trip switch was under me left paw? He wont forget to save his work again in a hurry though will he? I reckon I've done him a favour, the fat bastard. Talking of lamb it said on the telly tonight that the per capita consumption of lamb in the US is less than one pound per person per year! What are they eating to get so fat, that's what I want to know. If you've ever watched Man vs Food then there may be some clues in there for you. "A full twelve pounds of pulled pork, eighteen hamburgers, three tonne of fries, eight slabs of Monterrey Jack cheese, a hundred and forty two Scotch bonnet chilli peppers and two gallons of their own special jalapeno concentrate instant death sauce all to be consumed inside three minutes." And the crowd are cheering him on like he's some sort of super-hero. The guy must be shitting through the eye of a needle after every show I reckon. Talking of which, today's pooh count so far is a load lightening seven. Tasty.
Barack Obama: if he's part Irish does that make him a leprecoon? Imogen Thomas: has formed a girl band to take her mind off things, apparently she's doing gigs all round Manchester. The end of the world: I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or anything, but this is the fifth one I've survived. Planking: This "Planking" craze has really taken off. The pensioner next door has been lying face down in the middle of his patio for three days solid now. Bin Laden: 10 years, trillions of dollars, thousands of soldiers dead, state of the art technology, but the US finally found him. In his house. Football: a new Premier League record of over 1000 goals has been recorded for this season. Over 200 of those came in injury time at Old Trafford. Somalian pirates: What do they take us for..
Took Sasha the cute Lhasa Apso out into town for a meal on Saturday night, in a dog about town sort of a way. Attempted to leave a review of the restaurant on Trip Advisor yesterday, but was dismayed to find that I need to be registered on Facebook to do so. I don't go in for all that rubbish. I mean don't get me wrong I'm pretty computer savvy as border terriers go, I have after all got my own blog and a cult following in Romania. But as me Dad says, in a Groucho Marx sort of a way, he wouldn't want to belong to a club containing both his ex bitches and his ex bitch-in-law would he? And rightly so. Whilst we're on the subject hands up who's on that Friends Reunited codswallop. First off if they were that much of a friend then you'd still be in touch with them wouldn't you? I got an email from them once, I'll interpret for you (in brackets), it went something like this: Hi (I've just split up with my husband), how are you doing (I bumped into Fiona from 5C the other day, she told me that your wife had done a bunk with the captain of the rugby club), I've been thinking about you a lot lately (I've got no friends and I've been wracking my brains trying to think of someone from school who was vaguely fanciable and I came up with you), how do you fancy meeting up for a coffee and a chat about old times (I can then tell you what a bastard my ex husband has been whilst sussing out if you've still got any money left), do get in touch I've been trying to track you down for ages (have you ever heard of rent a stalker). Pippa xx (I know that you can't be so stupid that you don't know what xx stands for). I went obviously xxx (her daughter was home). Pooh count: just the one, the consistency of a Mr Whippy ice cream it was, and not dissimilar in shape now that I come to think of it. Although warmer obviously. Well, when I say it was warmer I didn't actually touch it to check. I just assume that it would have been several degrees above the natural ambient temperature of a freshly curled Mr Whippy ice cream. And without the raspberry sauce or a flake.