A man gets the following text from his neighbour: I am so sorry Bob. I've been riddled with guilt and I have to confess. I have been helping myself to your wife, hammering it morning, noon and night when you're not around. To be honest, I'm surprised that you haven't noticed as I really have been tearing the arse out of the job. I don't get it at home any more, although I know that really that's no excuse. I just had a little dabble one day, for a laugh really, and sort of got addicted. Since then I've just been filling my boots. I mean if it's on offer 24/7, and it's free then what's a guy like me to do? I'm only human after all. But, Bob mate, I can no longer live with the guilt and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies along with my promise that it will never happen again. The man, anguished and betrayed, goes into his bedroom, grabs his gun, and without a word, shoots his wife dead there and then. A few moments later, a second text came in: Fcukin' predictive text. That's WiFi not Wife, Bob, obviously.
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.