Me Mum and Dad are just back from doing "the big Christmas shop" and rarely have I seen me Dad so thoroughly pissed off. If ever you go to Morrison's then avoid the checkout "girl" called Rachel like the fucking plague. He says "girl" - although apparently old hag would be closer to the mark. Old deluded hag who woke up this morning thinking that she was a female Peter Kay in fact. Listen Rachel nothing you have ever said, or will ever say, is funny right? You are not enhancing the customer's Christmas shopping experience with your incredibly dull and painfully transparently contrived attempt to "get in the Christmas spirit" - you're just a fucking window-licking dullard, more intelligent specimens of which I've seen floating upside down in the pond in the park. Get to fuck, and take your fucking Christmas fucking hat with you. You're about as funny as piles. No "we're not all set for Christmas" if we were we wouldn't be in fucking Morrisons would we listening to you talk abject shite, we'd be at home with our feet up drinking sherry and noshing on a bastard mince pie. I hope your fucking Christmas fairy lights have burnt down your shithole of a council house when you get home. Let's see how fucking ready for Christmas you are then Rachel. Ho ho fucking ho.
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.