Well, no sooner am I back from a stint at the Kennels/Stalag 45 than me Mum and Dad announce that I'm back in again on Wednesday as they are going to some bag of shite thing called Cereals - whatever the fuck that is. Sounds like a right fuckin barrels of laughs doesn't it? Cereals? From what I can gather it's a load of pissed up farmers wandering around looking for freebies and moaning about how hard done to they are. "One of the Range Rovers might have to go is wheat gets any cheaper than this. Young Rupert and Cassandra's school fees don't pay themselves you know. We could always sell one of the smaller houses or the hunting lodge I suppose, what, what, what, what, what. If it wasn't for the subsidy cheque we'd have to dump the bally skiing chalet in Gstaad. Jemima would be simply besides herself if we had to do that....."
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.