Sunday 8th September 2024
The weather in my portion of old Blighty hasn’t been great this year. Summer never really turned up. We got hints of it, the odd few days, but all in all it’s been a wet cool summer season. September looks set to be similar. It’s misty and rainy today with a low grey sky that feels more Novemberish than early September.
I feel a bit sorry for the Great North Run participants. Watched a bit on telly this morning, and it’s pissing down in Newcastle. It’s more like a swimming event. There’s a mad bugger doing it in a huge gorilla suit. It’ll soak up the rain like a sponge. Two miles in and it’ll be so heavy he won’t be able to move. Hope he makes it to the finish line.
The nights have barely started drawing in, and yet the shops are displaying Halloween and festive junk cheek by jowl. Having been denied my portion of summer, the Hallow-festive shit can just fuck off as far as I’m concerned. I’m not up for it.
There’s a new Government in office here in the UK, not that you can really tell the difference between this lot and the last lot. It’s just another bunch of self-serving, privileged fuck a doodle twats. And no, Angela Rayner, galumphing around in a DJ booth in Ibiza doesn’t make you down with the working classes. You stopped being working class when you joined the political class, and started kicking shit out of the lower orders. Plus, you’re a fucking hypocrite who benefited from stuff you now want to take away from ‘real’ working class people. You’re part of the cunt class now, so ditch the Docs because they have no authenticity on you any longer. You’ve brought shame and disrepute on them.
I suppose I shouldn't complain because I didn’t actually vote this time around. I couldn’t, in good conscience, put a cross next to any name on the ballot papers. I detest the political class, no matter what party they’re part of. There is not one politician in this country at this time that I have ANY respect for whatsoever. We have no statesmen or women in this country. We just have inadequate self-servers. (And that was a rant on behalf of why don’t politicians all fuck off party.)
To be honest, this year hasn’t been a big hit with me thus far. I’ve struggled with life, like we all do at times. The household powers have decided I need to book in some professional therapy sessions again. I agreed. Cuddles are lovely, but they don’t get to the root cause of whatever is going on with me at the moment. I have days when I’m great and then bang out of the blue I’m crying for no apparent reason, or I’m so hyper-anxious I can barely breathe. I lose my temper at the drop of a hat, which granted is kind of my norm, but this is more. So yeah, that’s where I’m at just now.
Bits & Bobs is still in progress. If anything, I’m wondering whether it’s getting too long. I can gobshite for England when the mood takes me. When you think about it, normal everyday life is jam-packed with bits and bobs of this and that, and that goes for all of us. If you detailed every last bit, or bob, you’d be on forever. Part of my problem, apart from not knowing when to shut up, is I try to analyse the arse and balls off everything, and I’m not really qualified. I was actually thinking of doing a psychology degree before all that education stuff went arse up. See, there’s a story right there. I might even get around to telling it one day, but not today.
We’re having Sunday dinner at Leo’s place this evening, and we’ll be setting off soon. I’m glad for once, because I’m not in the mood for cooking a big meal and, as things stand, me not being in the mood, leads to stuff getting slammed, chucked or sobbed over. Shane can take me sobbing snot all over his shirts, but he simply doesn’t tolerate the slamming and chucking of stuff, especially if the stuff is anchovies, and they hit him in the kisser. But that’s another story.
Ta-ra for now, and take care, all of you.
The weather in my portion of old Blighty hasn’t been great this year. Summer never really turned up. We got hints of it, the odd few days, but all in all it’s been a wet cool summer season. September looks set to be similar. It’s misty and rainy today with a low grey sky that feels more Novemberish than early September.
I feel a bit sorry for the Great North Run participants. Watched a bit on telly this morning, and it’s pissing down in Newcastle. It’s more like a swimming event. There’s a mad bugger doing it in a huge gorilla suit. It’ll soak up the rain like a sponge. Two miles in and it’ll be so heavy he won’t be able to move. Hope he makes it to the finish line.
The nights have barely started drawing in, and yet the shops are displaying Halloween and festive junk cheek by jowl. Having been denied my portion of summer, the Hallow-festive shit can just fuck off as far as I’m concerned. I’m not up for it.
There’s a new Government in office here in the UK, not that you can really tell the difference between this lot and the last lot. It’s just another bunch of self-serving, privileged fuck a doodle twats. And no, Angela Rayner, galumphing around in a DJ booth in Ibiza doesn’t make you down with the working classes. You stopped being working class when you joined the political class, and started kicking shit out of the lower orders. Plus, you’re a fucking hypocrite who benefited from stuff you now want to take away from ‘real’ working class people. You’re part of the cunt class now, so ditch the Docs because they have no authenticity on you any longer. You’ve brought shame and disrepute on them.
I suppose I shouldn't complain because I didn’t actually vote this time around. I couldn’t, in good conscience, put a cross next to any name on the ballot papers. I detest the political class, no matter what party they’re part of. There is not one politician in this country at this time that I have ANY respect for whatsoever. We have no statesmen or women in this country. We just have inadequate self-servers. (And that was a rant on behalf of why don’t politicians all fuck off party.)
To be honest, this year hasn’t been a big hit with me thus far. I’ve struggled with life, like we all do at times. The household powers have decided I need to book in some professional therapy sessions again. I agreed. Cuddles are lovely, but they don’t get to the root cause of whatever is going on with me at the moment. I have days when I’m great and then bang out of the blue I’m crying for no apparent reason, or I’m so hyper-anxious I can barely breathe. I lose my temper at the drop of a hat, which granted is kind of my norm, but this is more. So yeah, that’s where I’m at just now.
Bits & Bobs is still in progress. If anything, I’m wondering whether it’s getting too long. I can gobshite for England when the mood takes me. When you think about it, normal everyday life is jam-packed with bits and bobs of this and that, and that goes for all of us. If you detailed every last bit, or bob, you’d be on forever. Part of my problem, apart from not knowing when to shut up, is I try to analyse the arse and balls off everything, and I’m not really qualified. I was actually thinking of doing a psychology degree before all that education stuff went arse up. See, there’s a story right there. I might even get around to telling it one day, but not today.
We’re having Sunday dinner at Leo’s place this evening, and we’ll be setting off soon. I’m glad for once, because I’m not in the mood for cooking a big meal and, as things stand, me not being in the mood, leads to stuff getting slammed, chucked or sobbed over. Shane can take me sobbing snot all over his shirts, but he simply doesn’t tolerate the slamming and chucking of stuff, especially if the stuff is anchovies, and they hit him in the kisser. But that’s another story.
Ta-ra for now, and take care, all of you.