I see that the Unite union have said that there will be no tanker drivers strike this side of Easter. I hope all those sad bastards who spent hours queuing round the block yesterday feel suitably embarrassed enough to queue round the block again today to take their pissing jerry cans back. One woman set herself on fire decanting petrol in her kitchen yesterday, I read on the BBC. Thanks a fuckin' million for that Mr Cameron she was no doubt thinking as she sat in the burns unit of York Hospital. Is it just me or do some of these sad bastards get a sneaky little thrill out of queuing? Eagerly scanning up and down to see if the TV cameras have arrived yet. There was one woman on the telly last night who'd took both her kids with her and they had a little picnic in the car whilst they were waiting! I reckon she probably had some blankets, flasks of hot drinks and a fucking snow shovel in the back as well, just in case the weather took a turn for the worse. People who are three quarters full are driving around aimlessly for a couple of hours first so that they can squeeze more in. It's dead exciting - just like the war, but without the bombs. "Queue for Victory" the Sun will no doubt be saying before long, or "It was us wot queued for it." Pooh count: a respectable 3.
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.