Charity. They say it begins at home, it seems like it ends at home as well. I was shocked to see how difficult it was for me Dad to give stuff away today. The sullen teenager with the electrical thing glued to her hand, what's her name, I don't know she never talks to me. Mind you she never talks to anyone. Apart from the little fella, although I'm not sure that's officially you'd call talking. Colourful shouting more like. Anyway she's getting her room done up, new bed, redecoration, the lot. What she has done exactly to warrant such lavishness is however beyond me. I think she stopped swearing for a few hours last week. Mind you that was when she was on a sleepover round the corner so it probably doesn't count. There were reports circulating last week that she was considering having a bath, but they came to nothing. Anyroad up, so there's a load of books, DVD's etc and a few clothes looking for a new home so we pop down to the local "recycling area" in town only to be accosted by some bloke who I swear appeared from up out the ground like one of those skeletons in Jason & The Argonauts: "what have you got in there?" he enquires. "Erm, books, DVD's children's clothes, shoes, it's all good stuff," says me Dad. "Well you can't put that in there, that's fly tipping that is, you'll have to take it to the tip," says Unhelpful Johnny Jobsworth. "And who are you?" enquires me Mum. "I'm the bloke responsible for keeping this area tidy," he says proudly. Well you're not making a very good job of it are you you scruffy get, I think to myself. Followed by, I bet that looks impressive on the old CV. He's about 50 this bloke. Obviously studied and worked hard all his life to finally struggle into the impressive position of authority in which he now finds himself. I mean he's looking at them as if they are pissed up on their way home from the pub and stuffing half-eaten kebabs and pizza boxes in there. Then he starts to make a note of our car registration number! Looks like we have our first contender for turd of the week then. Pooh count one and a half (don't ask).
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.