The kids are off on holiday (again) and they're doing my head in (again). Watching telly in the lounge, that's MY fucking lounge that is, the bone idle bastards. I can hardly get 40 winks in for that Hannah Bastard Montana shite that they watch. Me Mum told the big teenager that her room looked like a tip and that it better be tidied up by the time she got home from work. Predictably she's done fuck all about that, and I don't think that the old "I couldn't hear what you said properly above the sound of all the seagulls circling overhead" excuse is going to wash again somehow. Me Mum and Dad took me out for a quick spin round the park last night, and there were half a dozen of the lazy twats all passing bottles of cider and WKD round. Me Dad said wistfully to me Mum "ah teenagers, they throw up so quick these days don't they?" Meanwhile the other one, the "little" teenager, the one that tips half a litre of fuckin Paco Rabane all ov...

What fucking storm? It's been fine up here in God's own country. The worst since 1987, batten down the hatches, the papers cried. Batten down my arse more like, that's been far more windy than the weather, especially since they switched me onto Butcher's Choice in tins last week. Fuck me, my guts have been worse than that time I snaffled me Dad's chicken jalfreezi. Shitting through the eye of a needle I think you two-leggeds call it. Anyway, back to the fucking weather. The Met Office issued an amber warning telling people that with high winds in the south expect things to come flying off the line, like any washing that was still hanging out, and Joe Hart of course. Fucking southern softies. They're such Chav's aren't they? The BBC news has just shown footage of one such wanker showing off already with his 30 foot Christmas tree placed precariously on the roof of his car. He'll never get that fucker home. Hadn't even tied it down or nothing. Tit ...