It's going to take an effort of momentous proportions to shift the NOTW from top slot for the turd of the week award, but the bloody teachers are giving it their best shot. Having already pissed me Mum off last week with their strike, they then got her goat even more on Monday with another of their stupid teacher training days. Now they've asked her to run the little fella, wotsisname, to a bloody rounders tournament 3/4 of an hour away, hang around for two hours in the rain and then bring him and all his mates back. Then last night he had to attend the poxy school play until half past eight where he has a bit part containing one line, and the bloody arse-covering headmaster rang up to say that he didn't think it was right that he should be made to walk 500 yards home alone at that time of night. Me Mum was far from happy, pointing out that walking home in broad daylight in mid-July at the same time that he's normally playing out until was the least of his worries as he's about to move up to big school and they still haven't managed to teach him a method of long division that he, she, nor me Dad can understand. And he's got A level maths. Is that good? I don't know 'cos I'm only a dog. And what's a supercilious wanker?
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.