Pork scratchings for dogs they are. So imagine my disgust to find that Me Mum & Dad's equivalent of Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard is bare of them. Pig's ears bereft we are in our house. And why is that I'm sure you are wondering. The answer would appear to be that my penny-pinching surrogate parents couldn't bring themselves to fork out more for a packet of pig's ears in Asda today than the weekend's Sunday roast joint cost. Yes, nearly seven fuckin quid it was for a packet of pig's ears apparently. Seven quid. Somebody is clearly taking the piss, and by doing so depriving me of my lunchtime treat. The dirty robbing bastards. Pound for pound a pig's ear is comfortably the most expensive part of it's body. In fact, on a pound for pound basis pig's ears are now more expensive in Asda than fuckin fillet steak! So what the fuck is going on there then? Fuckin, fuckety bastard fuck is all I can say.
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.