Me Mum and Dad are just back from doing "the big Christmas shop" and rarely have I seen me Dad so thoroughly pissed off. If ever you go to Morrison's then avoid the checkout "girl" called Rachel like the fucking plague. He says "girl" - although apparently old hag would be closer to the mark. Old deluded hag who woke up this morning thinking that she was a female Peter Kay in fact. Listen Rachel nothing you have ever said, or will ever say, is funny right? You are not enhancing the customer's Christmas shopping experience with your incredibly dull and painfully transparently contrived attempt to "get in the Christmas spirit" - you're just a fucking window-licking dullard, more intelligent specimens of which I've seen floating upside down in the pond in the park. Get to fuck, and take your fucking Christmas fucking hat with you. You're about as funny as piles. No "we're not all set for Christmas" if we were we wou...

Surprised that that little diving lad didn't get nominated, you know, what's his name....oh, it's on the tip of me tongue.....Suarez that's it! I tell you who was never going to be in the running, that twat that presented Match of the Day on Saturday night, struggling to come up with his name as well. No not Lineker, some other git, who's opening gambit was to tell us how many goals had been scored in the Premier League that day. Which is all very well unless the game that you are particularly interesting in is the last one on. So me and me Dad spent the entire programme trying to avoid adding up how many goals had been scored in total, so as to attempt to avoid our televisual entertainment being entirely ruined, only for this knob-head to introduce the game with "this is the last game on 'cos it had the fewest goals in it." Seeing as we already knew that 3 was the lowest number of goals scored that day, then this urinated all over our chips of enjoyme...

Has it ever occurred to you that there's a lot of similarity between Manchester Citeh fans and their owners? They both think nothing of throwing money at players. Woof. Watching Match of the Day last night with me Dad there was a striking difference between Mario Balotelli's demeanour on being substituted for Citeh and Nikica Jelavic coming off to high fives all round for Everton. Balotelli is "an enigma" says Citeh coach David Platt, at least that's what I think he called him. A fuckin cocky, egotistical, lazy heap of shit is what I'd call him, but what do I know, I'm only a Border Terrier.

Went to the bank with me Dad at the weekend, and a sign above the cash machine said "If you see anything unusual ring 0845 222 333" so me Dad rang them up and said "I once saw a Shetland pony shagging a sheep, is that any good?" Tosser.

Walkies on Saturday with me Dad took us past four men digging the road. Well, when I say "four men digging" I mean one man digging and three men standing around pointing. "I think we'll make Frank dig over there in a minute" I'm sure one said, and the other one goes *point* "Nah, I reckon we should make him dig over there." To which the third non-digger chips in with *point* "What's wrong with over there, that will cause maximum traffic disruption and mean that pedestrians and their dogs have to either wade through a waist-deep pile of shite, or walk on the road thereby increasing the possibility of a nasty, and if we're really lucky fatal, accident." To which they all nod sagely and say "Yes, Fred's right lets make Frank dig over there *point collectively* where it's really dangerous next." Twats. And what about all this fucking rain? Exactly how bad do things need to get for the Met Office to go up a notch from...

We appeared to be having some minor issues with design/images going missing here this morning, for a minute I thought that the bastards were censoring me due to me poor affliction, it's a fuckin curse it is to be piss bastard sure. For one minute I thought I was going to have to erase all me posts containing swear words. Or all me posts to put it another way. Turns out it was summat else entirely. Me Dad reckons that he's sorted it now anyway. A fuckin genius that bloke. Even if he is a fat, lazy, ugly get. I've never seen him so mad as he was this morning when he caught our neighbour's dog doing a shit in our back garden. So he picked it up and shoved it through their letterbox. Well, at least he got it's front legs and head in anyway. Woof.

Me Dad says that the chances of being killed in an air crash is 1 in 4,600,000, whereas being killed in a fire is a 1 in 40,000 chance. That's why he never travels by fire. That's what he reckons anyway, the fat get. Still, he did take me out for a nice long walk on Saturday, which kind of partly made up for him leaving me in the house on my own all day Sunday. Bored out of my skull I was, not to mention starving hungry as I didn't get me tea until half past seven. Christ, they'd been out that long that even the fecking log basket was starting to look tasty. Talking of which did you hear about the blind guy who got a packet of Brillo pads mixed up with a packet of shredded wheat and ate two Brillo pads for his breakfast? He's in intensive care but the doctors say that they think he'll scrape through. In other news, I see that a petition for Scotland to be granted it's independence has attracted more than a million signatures. And that's just from Englan...