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Me Dad says that the chances of being killed in an air crash is 1 in 4,600,000, whereas being killed in a fire is a 1 in 40,000 chance. That's why he never travels by fire. That's what he reckons anyway, the fat get. Still, he did take me out for a nice long walk on Saturday, which kind of partly made up for him leaving me in the house on my own all day Sunday. Bored out of my skull I was, not to mention starving hungry as I didn't get me tea until half past seven. Christ, they'd been out that long that even the fecking log basket was starting to look tasty. Talking of which did you hear about the blind guy who got a packet of Brillo pads mixed up with a packet of shredded wheat and ate two Brillo pads for his breakfast? He's in intensive care but the doctors say that they think he'll scrape through. In other news, I see that a petition for Scotland to be granted it's independence has attracted more than a million signatures. And that's just from England. Woof. Me Dad hates the Jocks, or the Ginger Hun as he calls them, I reckon he's probably responsible for half of them signatures. He's none too keen on the Welsh either. Talking of which, the Welsh bloke over the road was found dead yesterday. He died the way he would have wanted to go...He passed away peacefully in his sheep. That's what I heard anyway. It's probably a load of tosh, you can't believe anything you hear in this house. I bet me Dad was never in the Beatles either, and his auntie isn't the Queen. There is a passing resemblance mind, the saggy moobs, the vertically challenged bit, not to mention the beard.

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