I find it quite amazing that for someone who used to put magazines together for a living can't make this poxy blog editor do more for my $0.00 a year fee!
Today saw (or heard, depending on where you were) both of my neighbours in fine fettle. Fishwife woke me up at 7.30 by getting his bins out. steady on, girls, it's not as exciting as it sounds! This set not one but two of the dogs off and subsequently I didn't get back to sleep so I was answering emails at 7.40 and wondering what the hell I was going to do with my day. The main reason for my not getting back to sleep wasn't the clattering of his bin or the piercing dog barks, but his conversation with someone on the opposite side of the house from where I was trying to get the pillow to drown out the noise. The man's voice carries like malaria and all I could hear was wah fucking wah wah waaah!
By 11:00am, he'd gone off to fight fires or be a good Samaritan somewhere else, so I decided it was a good time to hit the deck chair, top up the tan and prepare to mow the lawn. I had a cup of strong coffee, a lack of sleep headache and the main section of The Guardian. I was sorted.
Fuckwit and Oaf Woman were in the garden and they weren't alone.
Various bits of snatched conversation passed me by and then, "Nice day. My mate reckons it's here for the week."
"The weather. It's going to be like this for the rest of the week."
"Who said that?"
"My mate. I said."
"Yeah, which one?"
"Yeah, Tony's usually right about that kind of thing. He picked the Britain's Got Talent winner weeks before the final."
"I told him he should of had a few quid on that."
There you have it. The Met Office reckon it'll be raining by tomorrow lunchtime, but Tony can pick the winner of a talent show. We are all sorted.
I went and mowed the lawn.
Next time: Unemployed man wrestles the hoover, cleans up stinky dog poo and contemplates dinner on a budget. Stay tuned for the next crazy adventure!