I see that the Unite union have said that there will be no tanker drivers strike this side of Easter. I hope all those sad bastards who spent hours queuing round the block yesterday feel suitably embarrassed enough to queue round the block again today to take their pissing jerry cans back. One woman set herself on fire decanting petrol in her kitchen yesterday, I read on the BBC. Thanks a fuckin' million for that Mr Cameron she was no doubt thinking as she sat in the burns unit of York Hospital. Is it just me or do some of these sad bastards get a sneaky little thrill out of queuing? Eagerly scanning up and down to see if the TV cameras have arrived yet. There was one woman on the telly last night who'd took both her kids with her and they had a little picnic in the car whilst they were waiting! I reckon she probably had some blankets, flasks of hot drinks and a fucking snow shovel in the back as well, just in case the weather took a turn for the worse. People who are three qua...

"Don't panic, but fill up every last jerry can you can find with petrol." The big soft wet get. He's just too shiny isn't he that bloke? Never trust a man in who's forehead you can see your own reflection, that's what me Dad always says. I'd send him a polished pooh on a plinth if I could afford the stamp. They're not even holding strike talks until Monday the lazy bastards. The British do love a good queue though don't they? Any pissing excuse, and they're out there in force today, the stupid sheep-like dickheads queueing round the block for the right to drain the pumps dry at the highest prices that petrol has ever been. It's a good job the kids are off school next week or they'd never be able to get in would they? "Dear Sir, sorry that Paris, Chantelle and Leonardo couldn't come in today, my fucking enormous 3 miles to the gallon top of the range Land Rover Sport has run out of petrol and as we live 3/4 of a mile away it...

Sorry folks, I've been a bit under the weather lately but I'm pleased to report after a full medical that they've found out what's been wrong with me. Apparently I've got Tourettes, whatever the fuck that is, and my constant struggle to "keep it all in" as the Beautiful South would say has apparently been my downfall and caused some sort of blockage. So, from now on I'm under strict medical orders to say it like it pissing bastard well is. I feel better already. Pooh count: six.