Is there anything more frustrating than waiting in line for cinema tickets when people are dicking about ordering food while feral children run amok? Can’t think of one right now. Add to that the suffocating mask wearing.

Wishing a very Mr Creamy Shits to everyone that enjoys anagrams.

Have reached a level of F#cked-Offness that I can’t even coast into the Christmas break.

A combination of Covid fatigue, despair at the utter shambles of global politics (NZ exempted, for now) and month of crappy weather has got me turtling up.

Am treating it by logging off work for the adternoon and having some posh eggs benny and coffee at Dough, followed by a bit of shopping therapy.

I have been in a fortunate position of having an income and ability to work from home, so I can only imagine how awful this year has been for many others.

Looking forward to raising a toast to 2022 and hoping it’s better than this dumpster fire of a decade so far. So expect earthquakes and alien invasion come January.

If you’re in the UK please feel free to stream the song as much as you can (even if you’re not listening to it) to make it Christmas Number One.

Lyrics are NSfM (not suitable for Mothers – OK Mam?) but having been a virtual prisoner for over a year while those arseholes party in Downing Street I’m pretty sure she would agree with the sentiment.

http://borisjohnson.info/index.html

Reminds me of my niece Izzy. If she’s not a rock drummer, England footballer, stuntwoman or martial arts champion…

Never mind advent calendars or Michael Buble emerging from his cave, THIS is the real sign that Christmas is almost upon us – I have bought the Big Tin. Oh and we have put the tree up this year. Ho fecking ho!

Second consecutive weekend feedup with our generous friends Chris and Holly. This time it’s a roast dinner served up in a Yorkshire Pudding the side of your head, followed by a treacle sponge and Birds custard. Hell yeah!