Today my allotmenting has taken a blow for the worse.
Yes we'll still be having the wild, drunken orgies. The beer volcanoes and erotic dancers will still perform on cue. Money will continue to grow from our trees, and the oil well is coming along right on schedule.
But there will be no gardening tools, as promised, on my allotment on 1st March.
Grrrrrrr!
Roar!
Our new chappy at work, whom I was due to collect from Heathrow airport next Wednesday has cried off. At the last minute he has decided that he would prefer to stay in Scotland rather than to move to civilisation and enjoy the benefits of hot and cold running electricity.
What a haggis!
Oh, and it's a bit of a blow at work, much gnashing of teeth, the occassional rude word, and a few suicides amongst the senior management have ensued.
But bugger all that, the swine had promised me some gardening tools!
I am now officially miffed. I have miff. Miff is with me. And miff needs feeding, if you ask me.
Does anybody have the ICBM targetting codes for Scotland?
If I get any more miffed it'll be time to break out the Cold Sick Grenades and the Snot Launchers. That'll show 'em!
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