Well, I've opened my parcel, and you'll never guess what it is - only some dog biscuits free and gratis from Dodson & Horrell, suppliers of horse and dog food to the Queen. The fucking Queen. Christ! One minute I'm a Border Terrier rolling around in shit and the next I'm hob-nobbing with bleeding royalty. It's a funny old life innit? I could be knobbing a Corgi by the end of the week, don't laugh, look at Mike Tindall, the cauliflower-eared, ugly, broken-nosed twat. One minute he's having his ear bitten off in a scrum and the next he's tupping royalty. And that Limpik Wimbik Optic bloke. OK the Cheeky Girls aren't royalty exactly, but have you seen the face on him? And Andrew Lloyd Webber, Christ that's real ugliness that is. When he was born he was so ugly that the midwife slapped his Mum. I'm moving up in the world. I can smell it. At least I think that's what I can smell....
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.