Says that he was in Morrisons today and thought for a moment that he'd seen his ex missus. When this person turned to face him it turned out to be a bloke, not a woman. Me Dad said "Christ, I know this sounds weird mate, but you look just like my ex-missus, except without the beard obviously." The bloke said "but I haven't got a beard." Me Dad said, "No but she has." That's what he told me anyway, it's probably a load of old rubbish, you can't believe a word he says half the time. Still, that's probably due to the shell shock he picked up when he single handedly kicked the Argies out of Port Stanley. He could have been a professional footballer but for that.

It started predictably enough with a forage for something to eat round the bird table in the garden. Why she insists on feeding those bastards is beyond me, but she seems to like it for some reason. Then managed to scrounge some toast off me Mum. Then went for a walk and ate loads of grass and rabbit shit, terrier truffles as I call them. Then snoozed in me bean bag. Then barked at random passers-by, some of whom passed-by a little too closely for my liking. Woofed my head off at the little lad over the road, the one with attention deficit disorder, who promptly shat himself. Which amused me, as I thought it might distract him from his regular problem by replacing it with a predicament of an entirely different kind. Which it did. Now looking forward to tea. I do hope it's sausages. Pooh count: only two (not including the one from the lad over the road as that would be cheating). Miliband and Balls I'm calling them. Smug little bastards they are.

The kids are doing my head in with this good kid, bad kid thing. The problem seems to be that they both want to play bad kid most of the time. All they seem to do is moan constantly about how difficult school is. "It's not easy you know, you have to do lessons and everything and you're not even allowed to swear at the f***in teachers any more. Look at this mountain of homework I've got, it's going to take at least 15 minutes to sort my way through that pissing lot. You don't realise how hard it is. Look I've got to write my name there and then I've got to copy the answers that they've already given us onto there. The stress is feckin unbelievable. Oh, by the way, I'm staying at (insert random kids name here) on Friday and then we're going into town and to the pictures and ten pin bowling and then MacDonalds and the cinema and then I'm having my hair straightened/curled/styled at that new salon on town where you get a full head massage an...