The school holidays, don't you just HATE them. Especially the school bloody summer bloody holidays. My peaceful snooze in the sunny spot by the log basket is perpetually interrupted every twenty minutes or so by another bloody caller for the boy. Every bleedin bloody buggering twenty chuffing minutes there's a knock at the bleedin bollocking door "Is George in?" It's got so bad now that me Mum had had a sign made up, and laminated mind in case of inclement weather, "George is not in. So please don't knock and don't ring. Thank you." Does that make any difference, does it balls. Every twenty buggering minutes. "Ring/knock. Is George in?" Can't they bloody buggering bollocking well read these idiots? "Erm, I though he may be in and you'd forgotten to take the sign down." No we haven't right. He's not in so bugger off you bleedin buggers or I'll bite your bleedin bollocks right off I buggering well will.

If a little fat ginger kid falls over in the forest, and there's nobody there to hear them cry for help, is it still funny? Pooh count: two, one Curly Wurly and a Twix....

Walkies was a swift one round the Valley Gardens with me Dad this morning. Well, when I say a swift one it turned into more of a dawdle after we me Nobby the 14 1/2 year old Border Terrier. Why do dog owners do that? He's 14 1/2. That's like saying yer Grandma is 72 1/2 isn't it? So we walked round with him a bit. He looked all grey and distinguished like Michael Aspel, except with four legs of course, and a collar and lead. You never used to see Michael Aspel in a collar and lead did you? That was more Frank Bough's sort of thing I understand. Talking of boff's I did one in me sleep last night that was so loud that I woke meself up, gave me a right funny turn it did. There's been whispering going on at home, me Mum's doing a lot of packing which always makes me nervous, and the kids seem to have stopped going wherever it is that they normally go every day. You know what that means don't you? They're going on bloody holiday aren't they. Stalag 45...

Was walking round Knaresborough with me Dad on Saturday morning, and as soon as we got out of the car there was this sound of "moaning" in the distance, across the other side of the Market Square. So I immediately think, bless, it's one of our less fortunate brethren. They can't help it can they? But no, it wasn't someone with with Tourettes effing and jeffing across the way. Or a handicapped person taking a good-humoured thrashing off one of their "carers". This was an Elvis impersonator giving us "Suspicious Minds" at full volume. And a not particularly talented Elvis impersonator at that. The girls in the deli were far from impressed as "Elvis" was right outside their door, their enquiries of "do you do requests, well here's a tenner now bugger off" sadly fell on deaf ears. You could just tell that in this guy's mind he WAS Elvis, there was no mistake about that. Passers-by had a bemused look on their faces that s...

Me Dad tells me that he's gutted to read that his arch enemy Richard "We'll try and have your internet connection back on by Christmas 2020" Branson carelessly swam into the mouth of a whale shark off Cancun recently only for it to "puff him out". Me Dad says he's have cashed his entire PayPal account in to keep the bloody think in plankton for the rest of it's life if it had just done the decent thing. I ate a whole plum on me walk earlier, that may hurt on the way out later in the week....

Is doing my head in. I used to actually quite like the guy but the teenager has been playing "You're beautiful" over and over again this week and now I find his voice only marginally less irritating than Joe Pasquale's. That puts him in the running for a turd of the week award, although I think that overtly gay teenagers look likely to finish top of the table this week. Which is strange as they're normally likely to be found down near the bottom. Or "and finally bringing up the rear, in the colours of Sir Elton John, pink with a brown cap, we have Rampant Fudge Packer," as John McCririck would say.

Me Dad tells me that his weekend trip to Ireland was somewhat spoilt by an overtly camp and gobby 17 year old-ish passenger sat next but one to him who provided a loud running commentary on everything that was happening around him for the whole trip. "Look there's the sea. Oh, look there's the beach, I love to feel the warm sun caressing my naked body, I do. Isn't it amazing that one of these things can get off the ground? Oh, it makes my tummy go all funny just thinking about it. Gives me the right collywobbles it does. Hello Mr Stewardman, you look smart in your nicely ironed uniform. Do you do that yourself? I'll have a Kit Kat please. Just the two fingered type, I can't mange four. Oh you are awful. No, I'd better not have anything to drink or I'll get the giggles. One gin & tonic and I'm anybody's.....chase me, chase me. Fiona, Fiona look at the clouds, like giant pieces of cotton wool aren't they..." Me Dad says that it's ...