Tuesday 2nd July 2024
Bless me, Diary, for I have sinned. It’s been over two months since my last confession/entry.
Life has been difficult with one thing and another, my foray into allotment holding being one of the things, along with a stay in hospital. Anyway, more of that another time. I just wanted to touch base today and open a page for July, before lack of activity leads to rumours I’m dead, and a crowdfunding page for my funeral is set up by international fraudsters cashing in on my popularity to extort money from fans. To be fair, they wouldn’t make much. If all fans contributed a fiver each then they’d make about fifteen quid, not enough to buy a bunch of flowers let alone a coffin and headstone.
Here in my portion of Blighty, the weather continues to be locked in winter mode, barring a few days when the sun finally broke through the barricade and kicked winter’s arse before being driven back again. People, it’s cold here, and cloudy, and damp, and miserable and depressing. I want some fucking summer!
To compound the awfulness of the weather, we have a General Election looming. Voting takes place this Thursday. I don’t know if I’ll vote this time. I despise the entire political class in this country at the moment. They can all fuck off as far as I’m concerned. I could rant about it, about loads of stuff actually, but what’s the point? So, yeah, not voting won’t rest easy with me, but voting for people I have no faith in also doesn’t rest easy. We’ll see, perhaps I’ll have a last minute flash of political conscience and use my vote. It’s a shame that Count Binface isn’t standing in my area.
Bless me, Diary, for I have sinned. It’s been over two months since my last confession/entry.
Life has been difficult with one thing and another, my foray into allotment holding being one of the things, along with a stay in hospital. Anyway, more of that another time. I just wanted to touch base today and open a page for July, before lack of activity leads to rumours I’m dead, and a crowdfunding page for my funeral is set up by international fraudsters cashing in on my popularity to extort money from fans. To be fair, they wouldn’t make much. If all fans contributed a fiver each then they’d make about fifteen quid, not enough to buy a bunch of flowers let alone a coffin and headstone.
Here in my portion of Blighty, the weather continues to be locked in winter mode, barring a few days when the sun finally broke through the barricade and kicked winter’s arse before being driven back again. People, it’s cold here, and cloudy, and damp, and miserable and depressing. I want some fucking summer!
To compound the awfulness of the weather, we have a General Election looming. Voting takes place this Thursday. I don’t know if I’ll vote this time. I despise the entire political class in this country at the moment. They can all fuck off as far as I’m concerned. I could rant about it, about loads of stuff actually, but what’s the point? So, yeah, not voting won’t rest easy with me, but voting for people I have no faith in also doesn’t rest easy. We’ll see, perhaps I’ll have a last minute flash of political conscience and use my vote. It’s a shame that Count Binface isn’t standing in my area.
That’s enough for me today. Before I go again, let me just say thank you to those kind folks who sent birthday greetings. See ya!
Sunday 14th July 2024
Dear Diary,
Yesterday morning was the last straw. I’d just had enough. I was sick of it, sick of the mocking and goading. Marching to the kitchen door, I wrenched it open and, clenching my fists, roared at the top of my voice. “Fuck off! Just fuck off!”
I then slammed the door closed, and turned back into the kitchen - to find Shane standing there with a look of utter shock on his face. “What the hell is going on, who are you abusing?”
“What’s happening?” Dick, who hadn’t long been up, made an appearance in the kitchen, dishevelled and clutching his electric toothbrush. He looked concerned.
“That’s what’s happening.” I dramatically flung out my hand to point at the window. “Rain. Again. It’s supposed to be summer. I can’t take much more of this crap weather. It needs to fuck off. I want some sun, not this fucking grey teeming smog, day in and day out. I’m losing my mind, along with the fucking will to live.”
Pulling out a kitchen chair, I flopped down on it and crossed my arms, genuinely on the verge of frustrated tears at the prospect of another sunless day ahead.
Shane opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he blew out his cheeks, shook his head and left the kitchen.
Dick looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You were shouting and swearing at the weather?”
I nodded grumpy confirmation, adding. “Somebody has to stand up to it, Dick. It’s taking the literal piss out of us. I’m bloody sick of shithead rain. I need some blue skies and sunshine before the fucking clocks go back again.”
Dick looked at me in wonder for a moment, like I was a new species, and then took a leaf out of Shane’s book and left the kitchen, seemingly unable to find words to suit the situation. I heard his toothbrush whirring as he walked up the hall. Still, I suppose it’s nice I can still nonplus them after all these years.
Honestly, though, I’m fed up. Our corner of Blighty hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. It’s pissing down again today, and cold with it. I’m beginning to believe the various conspiracy theories about cloud controlling alien interference in our weather system.
And, as if things aren’t wet enough on land, the men folk have gone sailing with Leo and Mike, so I’m stuck indoors preparing a Sunday lunch for when they all roll home. I’m so not in the mood. Fucking sailing, it’s all right for them. They actually enjoy messing about on the water. I don’t, though if it rains any more I’ll have to buy a rowing boat just to get around the garden.
We’ve got a houseful tonight too. Howard and Rob are coming over later to watch the Euro Final. Fucking hell, as if I’m not stressed enough with the weather. Watching England play Spain will probably push me over the edge, especially if it goes against us. I’ll have to try and get in the mood. Come on England! Bring it home, for fuck’s sake. We need something to compensate for the shit summer.
Fuck it. I’m putting the heating on. I’m cold. If Shane doesn’t like it, tough, he can kiss my beautiful arse.
A very bad-tempered, foul-mouthed houseboy saying over and out.
Dear Diary,
Yesterday morning was the last straw. I’d just had enough. I was sick of it, sick of the mocking and goading. Marching to the kitchen door, I wrenched it open and, clenching my fists, roared at the top of my voice. “Fuck off! Just fuck off!”
I then slammed the door closed, and turned back into the kitchen - to find Shane standing there with a look of utter shock on his face. “What the hell is going on, who are you abusing?”
“What’s happening?” Dick, who hadn’t long been up, made an appearance in the kitchen, dishevelled and clutching his electric toothbrush. He looked concerned.
“That’s what’s happening.” I dramatically flung out my hand to point at the window. “Rain. Again. It’s supposed to be summer. I can’t take much more of this crap weather. It needs to fuck off. I want some sun, not this fucking grey teeming smog, day in and day out. I’m losing my mind, along with the fucking will to live.”
Pulling out a kitchen chair, I flopped down on it and crossed my arms, genuinely on the verge of frustrated tears at the prospect of another sunless day ahead.
Shane opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he blew out his cheeks, shook his head and left the kitchen.
Dick looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You were shouting and swearing at the weather?”
I nodded grumpy confirmation, adding. “Somebody has to stand up to it, Dick. It’s taking the literal piss out of us. I’m bloody sick of shithead rain. I need some blue skies and sunshine before the fucking clocks go back again.”
Dick looked at me in wonder for a moment, like I was a new species, and then took a leaf out of Shane’s book and left the kitchen, seemingly unable to find words to suit the situation. I heard his toothbrush whirring as he walked up the hall. Still, I suppose it’s nice I can still nonplus them after all these years.
Honestly, though, I’m fed up. Our corner of Blighty hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. It’s pissing down again today, and cold with it. I’m beginning to believe the various conspiracy theories about cloud controlling alien interference in our weather system.
And, as if things aren’t wet enough on land, the men folk have gone sailing with Leo and Mike, so I’m stuck indoors preparing a Sunday lunch for when they all roll home. I’m so not in the mood. Fucking sailing, it’s all right for them. They actually enjoy messing about on the water. I don’t, though if it rains any more I’ll have to buy a rowing boat just to get around the garden.
We’ve got a houseful tonight too. Howard and Rob are coming over later to watch the Euro Final. Fucking hell, as if I’m not stressed enough with the weather. Watching England play Spain will probably push me over the edge, especially if it goes against us. I’ll have to try and get in the mood. Come on England! Bring it home, for fuck’s sake. We need something to compensate for the shit summer.
Fuck it. I’m putting the heating on. I’m cold. If Shane doesn’t like it, tough, he can kiss my beautiful arse.
A very bad-tempered, foul-mouthed houseboy saying over and out.