When Saturday evening feels like Sunday night!

It better not rain = It’s just about to piss down like gawd flushed the toilet

If we have one more breakdown we’ll be dead in the water = The machine is about to cook itself for dinner

The last thing we need is a dry week = Get the sun-loungers out

It’s been a hectic Summer of events where all that pent up energy from the lockdown was released. Yesterday was yet another hedonistic night out with the lovely Sineaid. First food and drinks at the Oakford Social, followed by G&Ts on the train, then drinks at the National Theatre with a show. We ended up at The Friendly Society and caught the 1.30am train home. Bottom line my head hurty big time. 🤣🤣

Ever since the terror attack / hate crime in Reading the lion from Forbury gardens has become the symbol of Reading. What few people know is that the sculpture was a topic of much ridicule for the artist as the stance that the lion takes is completely unnatural and would never occur in the real world. But like Reading innit, looks good but it’s a bit wonky.

Is that they are far too impressionable. I mean all they need is one little sniff of a crisis and they all form a queue. First it was toilet rolls with some families purchasing enough to wipe the arses of China, they then moved on to flour which is now no doubt in a mouldy pile in some poor sods garage. Well this week it’s petrol. All it needed was some clever clogs  from BP to announce they were closing a couple of forecourts because of a lorry driver shortage and the brigade of fuktards set to action. They are literally jamming the roads in their efforts to get their hands on a tank of fucking petrol. Honestly if I could kick each and every one of them in the face I would. They will probably become a self fulfilling prophecy by disrupting the normal supply chains further and forcing additional closures. And this begins the circle of fuckery all over again. <sighs>