The gritters are out round here. I kid you not. Trundling round the Ripon by-pass at the weekend we were followed by one of the buggers. I assume that North Yorkshire County Council have decided that spreading the grit out very thinly in the middle of a fucking record-breaking July heatwave is an excellent cost saving measure. The lack of ice-related accidents on the roads around Ripon this month is clear proof of the success of this measure. Wankers and cock ends the lot of them. In other news, I escaped again at the weekend, twice in one day which is no mean feat around here. Sadly I was recaptured for a second time whilst AWOL on sausage patrolling duties in the vicinity of Knox Way circa 17.00 hours. The tight bastards. Route behind compost bin into No 56 now blocked by large heavy piece of decking. Twats. New plan in formation, I can't wait for my mates at Thomas Bell to come up with a Porsche 911 targa top in black with alloy wheels, although I'm sure they will. New plan: I'm going to build a glider. A great big fuck off glider and fly to Brigg, I can't be arsed waiting around for a fucking bus that never comes, we're going aeronautical. I just need to gather a few bits and bobs about me and construction can commence. Me first problem is how to climb the loft ladder when they're out - which is pretty fucking often these days - too fucking often if you ask me. I'm only little you know. Then there's the question of what do I cover it with. There's loads of old newspapers in the utility room now that they haven't lit the fire for ages. Plenty of flour in the kitchen cupboard from when me Dad bought the bread maker that he's never used. Wanker. And water in the tap. A papier mache glider with a 40 foot wingspan will go un-noticed in our house it's such a fucking tip. I'll have to wait for a windy day, obviously. I might "only" be a Border Terrier but I'm not fucking stupid you know. Frank the Labrador from No 32 wants in, but he's too fucking fat, the size of a baby elephant he is. Which is odd, 'cos he says they hardly ever feed him. I said Frank, it's a fucking one dog glider not a bastard jumbo jet I'm building. And he slobbers like fuck to. The dirty bastard. If I let him in they'll all want to fucking come won't they? Even the fucking gay cats, Sebastian and the other fucker, from next door will want in. The dirt arse licking fucking fruit cakes. They could build their own fucking glider if they wanted to couldn't they? But no, they're too fucking bone bastard idle aren't they. Lying on the fucking shed roof all bastard day licking their privates. In fucking public too they do it you know. Not a care in the fucking world, the dirty gets. No, this is most definitely a one dog mission. And I'm it. Right, must crack on....
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.