It's cold.
Ryanair and Airlingus have sneakily upped their charges on the QT. The cold hearted bastards.
Some woman is giving out about clampers on the radio. She is boring me cold.
Brenda Power is on next. She leaves me cold.
Puddy is asleep on one of my best jumpers. I haven't the heart to move her, the pink bellied slut.
Angelina Jolie has adopted another child.
Robbie Williams is a bit of a twat.
My email is chocka block full of spam. Do I want 'red hot insider info on stocks'? Or 'little blue pills for her pleasure'?
Eddie Hobbs gives me toothache, why must he have an opinion on everything, the witless little hobo.
I have a mysterious pain in my back. I wonder is it due to cold?
I have work to do that I can't be bothered even starting. My fingers are too cold to type.
Phil Spector looks like Clay Aitkin.
The bigger of the cats has a cold. Every time he sneezes he looks startled.
I have to go out in the cold soon-to run around Marley park-in the cold. Did I mention it was cold?
My friend just emailed me from Barcelona, it was 27 degrees there yesterday. I used to live there, it was not cold.
There is no bread for toast.
Urgh, just kill me now, at least then I then I'll be roasting.
UPDATE: It is now snowing in my back garden and the sun is splitting the rocks out the front.
Labels: blee., cold, ennui, grumpy
