In the house, on me own again. Bored bastard shitless I am. I bark at the odd passer-by just to show a bit of willing more than anything else, sleep a bit, chew me paw a bit, check me bowl a bit (there's never anything in the fucker, I don't know why I bother). Fucking starving I am. They haven't even left the telly on for me or balls all. How the fuck is a Border Terrier supposed to get by in conditions like this. I bet even Terry Fucking Waite had the telly on. Probably sat up in bed, reading the papers with a cup of tea watching Jeremy Kyle all day was our Tez. Not me, oh no. I'm off out of here the first bastard chance I get. I'll show the heartless fuckers. Don't tell anyone right, but I'm going to dig a tunnel....
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.