Today has already been a whole bag of mixed chips. The continuous banging coming from the Widow Manky next door is driving me to complete distraction as I try to compose a set of questions to put to Constance Gooselane tomorrow.
I popped out to the shops earlier and bumped into Cpt Edmund Tillsley MBE. I assured him that as soon as I'm feeling a little more level I shall return to A.R.S.E. He said that I was missed, which is comforting at least.
If the truth be told, I'm not sure I'll be ready for a full scale ramble for many moons yet. Still a little rusty, and, to be honest; nervous.
Thankfully the convention of Scottish hermaphrodites have left the area around the back of my house, hopefully never to return. I had to collect numerous pieces of object du pish from the back green, including empty cans of super strength lager and strange cod piece accoutrements. It must be a heaven of new delights everyday when you have both a Northern bum and some cock 'n' balls. Still...
I'm making some soup. My dear old Mum's special recipe; Rambler's Broth. It's made from lentils, carrot, cabbage and wild spunk flower.
Someone outside is washing their car and blasting Billy Joel's Greatest Hits at full pelt. I have a mind to go down and tell them if I hear 'The Longest Time' once more they'll feel a blast of hot broth atop their noggin. The cunts.
Better dash for now. Expect a full report from the meeting with Ms Gooselane on the morrow.
RB.
Oh fuck there he goes again...right I'm going to get the fucking pot ready. And, dear readers if I'm to fucking endure it, then I'm afraid you are too. Enjoy...
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