What a week, dear reader!
Poor Alan (Scottish Alan) has had a health scare. Despite this, he's still his normal cheery self and has even started a photography competition! The Dumbass family went to the beach, we were taken on a tour of Saint Paul, the Tin Man wanted a killer schwang, we wondered if Sufjan Stevens is gay, Sawyer got a haircut, apples were turned into delicious apple crumble pies (but I didn't get any *sulks*), we saw the chute of Damocles, I mused on my favourite musicals, God and religion freaked us out once more, it was American Independence Day, Superman was a super bore, Dan revealed his favourite curse word is shite, a bunch of Doctor Who writers find out their worth, Lea got the boot from Big Brother, Paul realised how time flies, Lucas got giddy, there was tea on the carpet, a hottie was on the run in Dublin, it was Christmas in July, I learned that calling someone a bitch isn't necessarily a bad thing, it was Poetry Thursday and the Space Shuttle blasted off into outer space.
And did you see those hot lips?
Also, this week, a woman of sixty three became the UK's oldest Mother and we saw the first anniversary of the London bombings. I know this massacre was vile in the extreme, but did we ever make such a fuss when the IRA were exploding bombs left, right and centre? Perhaps we did, but it was so long ago now (thank God) that I've forgotten.
What's in store for us next week?
Will I discover how to turn gold into lead? Will Dannii Minogue quit tryng to turn me straight and will I manage to get J K Rowling to give up residence in my attic?
God only knows.
I feel a prayer to Saint Judy is in order before I toddle off to bed.