So this morning I woke up and Jamie failed to provide me with coffee, apparently a light was on and he didn’t know how to deal with it. I had tea, I was disappointed. Eventually got up and we ventured to Ikea. I bought Jamie a couple of picture frames for some signed Sonic poster and his World Record certificate (yes, he is a world record holder and it’s not for being a fat cunt). Then I parked up in Cotham and forced him to walk into town. I needed some trousers for a funeral. The requirements being ‘bright and not black’, so I settled on a pair or turn-up lime green skinny jeans, they will go great with my purple shirt. Came back and had eggs. Then fixed the washing line and picked up all the dog crap. Then went for a run. Fixed up the new pictures then did the accounts. I only have seven years nine months to go on my mortgage, then I have to find eighty-five grand from somewhere, maybe look down the back of the couch. Had a bath and watched the Grand Prix.

I did get an email from mother, thanking me for taking her to Weymouth. No matter how sincere it may seem, you just know it’s fully loaded. One of the comments yesterday was apparently from the guys who trimmed her bush, “Don’t your kids help you with stuff?”. No we don’t. I’m too busy flying helicopters and Sarah has her own set of stresses. she did say, “I’m pleased you managed to do what you wanted to do.”. In relation to dumping her for an hour while I sorted out a couple of geocahces. If she mentioned it to me and the time I would have just said, “Well that’s nothing compared to dumping a five year old in an auction house for three hours on a weekly basis with the strict instructions to not make a sound.”. I’m still bitter. But at least I don’t do a massive fart when I go up steps, unless I want to.