Walkies on Saturday with me Dad took us past four men digging the road. Well, when I say "four men digging" I mean one man digging and three men standing around pointing. "I think we'll make Frank dig over there in a minute" I'm sure one said, and the other one goes *point* "Nah, I reckon we should make him dig over there." To which the third non-digger chips in with *point* "What's wrong with over there, that will cause maximum traffic disruption and mean that pedestrians and their dogs have to either wade through a waist-deep pile of shite, or walk on the road thereby increasing the possibility of a nasty, and if we're really lucky fatal, accident." To which they all nod sagely and say "Yes, Fred's right lets make Frank dig over there *point collectively* where it's really dangerous next." Twats. And what about all this fucking rain? Exactly how bad do things need to get for the Met Office to go up a notch from an Amber Warning? It pissed it down here most of the day yesterday and it's still raining now. Still, on a brighter note, one of next door's cats got knocked down by a car skidding in the wet yesterday. And it was the ginger one as well, what a result. It used to shit in our garden you know. And then try and cover it up and saunter away as if it hadn't got a care in the fucking world. The dirty little bastard.
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.