Here we are again then. This is starting to happen with far too much regularity if you ask me. What's the big deal this week then that me and Knocker are confined to the kennels? Me Mum and Dad are getting married that's what. I thought they were fucking married already. That means that Knocker and me are bastards. The shame of it all. I'm not surprised that the Jehovah's Witness lady has stopped coming round. We used to look forward to barking at her and frightening her away as well. Living in fucking sin all these years, the dirty bastards.

What the fuck has happened to his hair? I was shocked to see said slaphead on the news last night. I only recognised him 'cos of Kate stood next to him. She must be distraught poor love, one minute you're married to a dashing prince and the next morning you wake up next to Greg Wallace. What a fucking right royal let down that is.

Watching the news on the Tellybox thing last night, they rounded off this story with "we won't know that until the police have launched a full investigation into the matter" comment from a serious looking reporter. Which made me wonder do they ever say "the police are only doing a partial investigation into this one, to save costs and as they already know who's guilty anyway as some gyppo's live just around the corner from here." Which also reminds me of the BT advert. "And for that, you get our most reliable broadband service ever." Which suggests it should be followed by "unlike those other poor twats who've already signed up. Mugs. We can palm them off with any old shite." And why is it three quid to sponsor anyone, anywhere to do anything? She's all alone in the mountains, hunted for her fur, but 3 quid will buy a snow leopard a detached house and an Instamatic camera which she can use to send you some pics of her and her ...

Watching the news last night I thought it was interesting to see that the Syrian building industry works almost identically to our own despite all our differences - one man actually on the shovel, and three others stood around watching him. Ideal for a life in the West. Another things that struck me watching the beginning of Countryfile last night: is me Dad the only idiot who thinks that this week he's gonna be able to see a little bit more of that woman's tits doing the rock climbing at the beginning than he could last week?

Me dad says he's never felt old, at least not until his recent bout of hospitalisation, where the nurses all seemed to be about 13 compared to him. Not only that but they all adopted the most condescending manner, in the style of somebody who knows better talking to a really old person, before me dad realised that that old person was him. "Do you think you can manage a little walk, Dave?" (Me dad: "there's nowhere to fucking go, apart from the end of the corridor and back, you soft bint.) "Let's just say to the end of the corridor and back, could you managed that Dave, I'll be here to support you if you get tired." (Dad: what the fuck are you on about, the end of the corridor, there, fifty fucking bastard cock striding yards away, of course I can managed to walk there you soft shite, it's only 50 yards, and no I don't need your fucking help ta. I tell you what let's race it for twenty quid just to make it interesting?). "Oh, wel...

What does a South Korean use to take his dog out? Oven gloves! I can't believe they eat dogs over there really, the dirty bastards, isn't it just an urban myth? Like Elvis working down the chippie, or Lord Lucan riding the winner of the 3.45 at Catterick? Or that Jeremy Corbyn was in Hawkwind and was also Father Abraham in the Smurfs? What he REALLY was in fucking Hawkwind and was Father Bastard Abraham? Are you taking the piss? Hmmmm. Gives me an idea though....Knocker, here boy, you know that new Korean restaurant in town, they're looking for a guard dog....

They've been away on holiday (yes, a-fucking-gain) and me and Knocker have been confined to Stalag 45. So there's been a distinct lack of blogging going on. (they won't let me use my iPad in Stalag 45 "for security reasons"). If that wasn't bad enough, when me Mum and Dad finally got round to coming home me Dad hit upon this brilliant new idea. To make walkies easier for him (fuck me), he's only gone and bought a length of chain about 3 feet long which attaches to the end of the flexi lead. This means that he only needs one hand to hold the lead (the lazy fucking twat). It also means that I'm permanently never more than 3 feet away from Nutjob on any walk we now go on. That's like me being in one of those prison-break movies. The sort where the nice bloke, wrongly convicted of murdering his wife (like in Shawshank) gets chained to some homicidal maniac, like Hannibal Lector or Reggie Kray. When the prison van accidentally crashes, the good guy (me)...