Nous sommes, ici, in Winton, Bournemouth, paying two bloody quid to post on the blog!
We've been to the beach (I just farted), Salisbury, and today we're going into Bournemouth town centre.
I don't know what else to say.
It's my niece's birthday on Saturday. She's having a fancy dress party. I'm going as Our Glorious Leader. Ian still doesn't know what he's going as. We're going to have to decide - and soon. If you have any ideas, please leave a comment or text me on 07841 831579. I thought it might be fun for Phyllis to go as Donna DeLory, but no-one will know who she is.
My birthday falls on the day of the party, which is kind of fabulous. I'll be twenty eight. I hope to get a fabulous farmhouse style birthday cake. I'd use the word rustic, but that's been done to a death since the nineties and is now officially naff. Rustic just means not very good these days. Farmhouse style sounds totally fabulous: perhaps a little rough around the edges, something a farmer's wife might knock up one wet afternoon. That's very sexist, I know. But it's a fact. How many farmers do you know who bake cakes while their wives go out ploughing the fields? Not many, I'm sure. And if they did, they'd not be voting Tory. I don't know how many farmers and their partners vote Tory, but my impression is that most do. I know, Farmers are totally fucked up, but that's a whole other kettle of fish. I don't think many farmers go fishing. But that's another kettle of fish, too. Other kettles of fish include the price of fish, whether or not to eat oysters raw and if cod should be fished from the North Sea. See how many kettles of fish there are!?!? It's totally amazing.
What's your favourite kettle of fish?
I might not get to make another entry before going home, which will be on Sunday. It'll be sad to go home on Sunday, actually. It's to be the nicest day of the year, here, so far, perhaps twenty five degrees centigrade. In Edinburgh, that day, we're to expect all of fiteen degrees which is shit, innit!?
I'm wearing white pants today. For you Americans, that's my underpants, not my trousers. I'm also wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a polo top. Spookily, I'm also wearing shoes and socks.
I bet you're sat there reading this in the altogether. I don't really mind this, just so long as you're not touching yourself inappropriately while reading Minge. I'd shudder at the thought.
Thank you and goodnight.