On my daily constitutional this morning it became quickly, or is that quackly, apparent that everybody else is at it, except for me that is. The ducks, pigeons, sparrows etc are all going at it hammer and tongs, or is that thongs? Unfortunately I'm not, on account of the two-leggeds having had me "done" before I even reached the grand old ago of one, the tight bastards. There's a bright side though, I just can't think of it right now. Rolled in "stuff" in a vain effort to try and make myself feel better, but it didn't work. So now I'm smelly and miserable. Pooh count: 1, a very modest showing by my prolific standards. Still it's more than Fernando Torres can manage.
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.