Monday again and the brain of Bramley AKA my young un has gone to work with my keys in the glove box of his car so that’s the day knackered before it starts, back to bed it is then.
This weekend has been quite a pleasant one for a change no nasty happenings or arguments to blacken the mood, even my tooth has been behaving itself my foot still throbs like buggery in my opinion, although I’m told “nothing throbs like buggery” not something I’m qualified to comment on will have to ask the fairy at work if I ever get there.
Saturday was just cold enough to keep me from having to prune the trees in the garden something I’ve been avoiding since September but not cold enough to but the kibosh on anything else, so off I went to Baildon to watch the nipper play an easy win in the end but he got carted off to hospital with a stinger injury which turned out to be just soft tissue, a bruise in other words , soft sod.
Still it leaves him ok to play in the national cup thingy next week and I’m thinking of jumping the gun and booking a weekend in London for the final I know it will probably give them the kiss of death but Mrs. Dwarfe has been nattering at me, I don’t think she wants me to go on my own, I wonder what she thinks she knows this time, I detect a certain air of distrust creeping in.
All giddy at the moment I just ordered my new phone the old one is held together with duct tape and keeps switching itself off for no good reason but I’ve had to cope until an upgrade was available, so now something new and shiny, is due to arrive tomorrow I wonder how long this one will last.
The snow seems to have come back with reinforcements today I wish it would pack it in, its no fun rolling around on the floor in this but at least its making my garden look like the retired bloke next door.
I see on the news this morning the “petrol tanks” have managed to bomb the crap out of a load of civilians in Afghanistan, well at least they missed our lads for a change.
WTF is going on at Chelsea we now have Cashley Cole getting caught playing hide the sausage at least it means John Terry can breath out at least for a minute I mean how daft do you have to be to get caught you would think with the amount they earn they could cover their arses a bit better than that, the man in the pub reckons that it could cost us the world cup if they drop the pair of them but he may as well put his hat on his arse and learn to walk backwards as we were never going to win it in the first place Cole should be worried himself though because in a couple of years when he’s on the bench for Gillingham reserves and she’s off doing a summer season at Butlins she will probably be getting her own back with a different redcoat every night.
Have to go now I’m afraid, KEEP SHOUTING SIR WE’LL FIND YOU…………..