Bad time to be a squeaky

Well, it seems that the 2009 Carnage has commenced. Strolled in from the pub dinner in the eve - I do not cook on Sundays - to be confronted with the fact that even though the Hairy of the House had been fed meat on demand, he'd still felt the urge for fast (scurrying) food, and left me the head end of the first confirmed mouse of the season. Either that or he was being topical, it was female and he was removing any possibility of cervical rot into the house (Jade Goody - enough already).

In other areas, the upgrade of the house continueth - been working on the spare room all day, and I want to know how it is that you can graft and graft, and the thing ends up looking worse than it did at the start? I'm getting to the stage where I'm concluding that I have just got TOO much gear in this place, something's going to have to go, Ebay and the charity shops will do just fine. I figure it's time I actually had a spare room again, rather than a store, so something's got to be done, so it's being done. And who says you can't shift a fully assembled Billy bookcase down the stairs on your own. Pah!

Waiting out my next trip to the factory of fun; been away on this madbusy training malarky in Manchester for the last two weeks and frankly the break is welcome. Of course, I wish I could do with this information what I do with so much other needless rumble; tick the box, file the handouts and get back to doing what I do, but the fact is I've got two more weeks of post course nonsense, and then I'm going straight operational with it. Pah!

Hey, that's two PAH's in one entry. That's two entries in one week. That's not bad going by the standards of my writing tardiness of late!

Honesty in advertising, pt2

"The Smart Deisel, the most fuel efficient deisel you can buy"

Oh my god, what we badly need is a new series of Top Gear. Ford GT please...

Getting plastered

Quite a lot of bravery from the small furry chap of the household today, as there've been strangers, familiar visitors and lots of banging around going on and he's not shifted from his position of comfort on the sofa. Maybe he thinks they're here to nick his new heavyweight scratching pole bought in Ippo on my last trip down; it's been put beside his old one in the approved "replace cats old item with new one in a way that does not freak him out" method; although it's the same colour as his sworn enemy, FG; it's well laced with catnip and he certainly approves. Although I can't quite see a repetition of the "cuuuurrrrrtains" catnip abuse we used to get from his young mate of old, or should that be "hyperactive intruder".

Anyways up. Madbusy day, shoved in the middle of a madbusy week, in it's own turn in a madbusy month. Bathroom project has ground to a halt due to the lack of plasterer to do plastery stuff, as mssrs Enfield would have us believe "bosh bosh, zhoom zhoom, wallop, dosh". So today, I have been frantically steaming off the remainder of the bathroom wallpaper that Hobbits can't reach, and the chap has been here doing his splattery thing, which would normally send the little Fangmeister into orgies of "getting the ferk out of here until this bloke's gone" but not today. Which is a good thing.

And speaking of splattery things, which is possibly the most tenuous link I've used in some time; today is Steak and Blowjobs day. Thank you to my friend on Northbank for reminding me of this one. The chaps reply to all that bloody hearts, flowers and expense bullshit that the doris's insist we pay for on Valentines day if we don't want our genitals to die from rusting. The day when they get to treat us to the stuff that us blokes like. Yeah, steak and.... at this point I'd like to apologise to any members of my family who've inadvertently stumbled upon this page and didn't think that I was that sort of boy. Anyways up, I'm shite out of luck for anything other than steak today, so it's a good job I'm not a vegan!

Shite TV comes to my house

Phil and Fern. Loose Women, featuring that appalling harridan that apparently used to be married to that ginger thing Evans. Jerry Fucking Springer, and his studio full of reasons we aught to give Al-Qaeda chemical weapons and nukes right now. How on earth has this come to pass in MY castle, my shelter from bullshit, my sanctuary? Ah, that'll be what happens when you relax your grip on the remote for two seconds and you've let a doris under your roof....