Went for a walk with me Mum and Dad (and fucking Tommy) the other day. We went on this canal walk that we'd never done before, so we stopped to have a look at this map that was up on a board showing where the different footpaths were and what to look out for and stuff. In the top right hand corner of the map was fucking big arrow saying "You are here" and when I looked around, that fucking was where we were! How do they do that? Big fucking brother of what? They're watching us like fucking hawks everywhere we fucking go. Then we stopped at a shop on the way back called "Sainsbury's Local" it was, and do you know what, it was at least 10 miles from our house! The cheeky twats. That's not fucking local in my book, that's a bastard long way from being local. They should get the fucking trade's descriptions people onto them fuckers. Woof. PS Tommy is still doing my fucking swede in, thanks for asking. The thick twat keeps banging his head on the bench in the window playing with my toys! My fucking toys. Here's the ball. Bang. Oh look, the squeaky crocodile. Bang. A string of sausages! Bang. The soft retarded get.
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.