I love it, a time for religious reflection, Chunky Kit Kat eggs, morality, the old fashioned values of what Easter is all about, wind-up bunnies and Dr Who not this commercialised junket in which we have found ourselves unceremoniously embroiled within. And a great opportunity to eat (and roll in) shit, obviously. I also managed to shovel down a couple of dozen seasonal rabbit droppings whilst out on the morning sojourn with cousin Paddy this morning, or M&M's as we call them. Jesus wasn't too keen on them, they kept slipping through the holes in his hands, apparently. Pooh count: a devout six. Shabba.
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.