I've got 'em. Me Mum says I must have eaten something "dodgy", which it's a bit difficult to narrow down in my case seeing as around half of everything I consume could be construed as "dodgy" in one form or another. Still, pleased to see that it didn't put the boy off his breakfast this morning. Me Mum thoughtfully put some paper down for me in the kitchen (it's the one thing that the Mail on Sunday is good for), just in case I couldn't make it through the night (which I couldn't). So I duly availed myself of said services and left a nice runny mess there for her to clear up in the morning. The boy comes down first, makes himself some poached eggs on toast and sits down happy as Larry at the kitchen table to eat it right next to my steaming puddle of shite. I kid you not. The dirty bastard. It's like living through an episode of the Royle Family in here some days.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.