My beauty sleep was rudely disturbed this morning by a weird and very loud noise. Bloody hell, the central heating system is about to explode, I thought. But no, next door have decided to have cavity wall insulation installed. At 8am. To keep disruptions to a minimum they've fucked off out for the day, the van is parked three quarters of the way across our pissing drive so that they can get out, and some twat in overalls is hammer drilling his way around the house. So whilst they are off doing whatever they are doing, me Dad is trying to work from home with the phones ringing and everyone shouting "WHAT'S THAT FUCKING NOISE? ARE YOU ON THE HARD SHOULDER OF THE M1 OR SOMETHING?" Judging by his answers I think I must have caught my Tourettes from him, which is a cue to do my the teacher asks Little Johnny to come up with a sentence containing the word "contagious" joke, but I suspect that you've probably already heard it. And if you haven't you can probably guess how it goes anyway. Pooh count: three. No prizes for guessing who's letterbox they will be going through later. And it will save on the stamps too, always a little Brucie Bonus that.
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.