"Don't panic, but fill up every last jerry can you can find with petrol." The big soft wet get. He's just too shiny isn't he that bloke? Never trust a man in who's forehead you can see your own reflection, that's what me Dad always says. I'd send him a polished pooh on a plinth if I could afford the stamp. They're not even holding strike talks until Monday the lazy bastards. The British do love a good queue though don't they? Any pissing excuse, and they're out there in force today, the stupid sheep-like dickheads queueing round the block for the right to drain the pumps dry at the highest prices that petrol has ever been. It's a good job the kids are off school next week or they'd never be able to get in would they? "Dear Sir, sorry that Paris, Chantelle and Leonardo couldn't come in today, my fucking enormous 3 miles to the gallon top of the range Land Rover Sport has run out of petrol and as we live 3/4 of a mile away it's simply impossible for the poor little bastards to attend. Ciao, Jemima Farquharson-Smethwick."
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.