Watching the news last night I suddenly had one of those epiphany moments. There's something wrong with the Queen's tits. I haven't noticed before, I mean you don't like to stare at the royal jugs do you, but you take a look when she's on the telly tonight. There she was last night with that blue sash thing across her chest, and my eyes were drawn to the royal cleavage, only to be shocked to discover that it was somewhere around waist height. I know a thing or two about a well chewed chest (me Mum had similar trouble) but Her Majesty's melons have, like our nuclear submarines, suddenly gone south big time. Maybe it's got something to do with breast feeding Andrew until he was 46? Or perhaps the randy old DoE has been "over vigorous" with his S&M games in the privacy of the royal bedroom lately. Whatever the reason, the royal funbags have lost their majesty that's for sure. What a shame, and in her jubilee year as well. But she's still our queen and we love her even if she has got a chest like two runny eggs dripping down an ironing board. Happy diamond jubilee to you and your mams ma'am. Woof.
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.