Every now and again two women come round to our house, harass me Dad on the step for about 10 minutes, and then go away. I'm not sure, but I think they are trying to convert him from eating white bread into eating brown bread, 'cos he said to me Mum the other day "the Fucking Hovis Witnesses have been round again whilst you were out." They always leave him a magazine, extolling the virtues of eating brown bread, and then they fuck off again until next time. One of them looks like Dot Cotton off the telly. In fact it could be Dot Cotton off the telly. "Ohhh, it's a terrible world we live in today isn't it? Have you ever thought about eating a bit more brown bread? That'll sort the job out a treat. Jesus loved brown bread he did. Always had a couple of loaves of it on hand, for emergencies like. Used to carry them round in a Tesco's bag to keep the flies and the sand off them. Invented the first ever brown bread fish finger sandwich he did. I'll just leave you this magazine." I suppose that the recipe must be in there?
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.