They're offering me Dad £50 off his next bill for everyone of his mates that he gets to sign up to them. So he's asked me to issue the following statement on his behalf: "Virgin Media are not shit, they are fucking ace actually, and have never, ever, let me down. What that Branson bloke wouldn't do for you isn't worth writing down. Won't hear a word said against the nice bewhiskered gentleman. Great bloke, great company. Not at all a complete waste of tossing, bastard, fucking cyberspace. That's some other lot, the ones that get Ruby Wax to advertise on the telly for them. They really are shite. Abject shite. Don't know their arses from a hole in the ground them, not like Richard." The End. He doesn't usually call him Richard. It's Dick normally, that's how close they are. Does anyone know what a supercillious twat is by the way? It sounds very important, and Dick is one apparently. So there. I might send him an engraved pooh on a plinth for his services to telecommunications.
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.