My mental frustration due to this bloody country’s leadership (I use the term loosely I think that’s understood) is only turbo boosted and augmented by listening to LBC from 10am. You know who you are James O B. Everyday he unravels the loosely tangled spaghetti created by the lack lustre political cockroaches. The final Tories left, a really poor group of imbeciles. One of their cohort a certain Stoke on Trent MP has been missing in action for a week or so and just as we read that a Tory MP woke up at 4am in a Brothel without any clothes and had to call central office to provide him/her with some tracksuit bottoms. What happened? A wetting accident? One too many Flaming Sambukas.  I wonder if it is that  rambunctious mistakingly sanctimonious Tory cretin JG? Could be, might not be. And I will not be making any predictions here, but where is the loud mouth, he’s usually to be seen or heard backing the 6 legged beetle looking wrong insect horse in a lame horse race while spittle dribbles down his shiny chin.

 Meanwhile the sun shone today and I was sniffing around the Shropshire Countryside, in places with made up names such as Middleton Scrivens, my sat nav set to “Difficult Roads” Taking me down some narrow crumbling roads, with runoff cracking the tarmac, the sun sparkling in the puddles and rivulets making the already beautiful scenery positively pulchritudinous. 

When the weather is like this I love my job, until I get back home to do my indoor computer work and then I realise that 4pm is on its way and its time to go and kick a ball about with my son. Screw the directors, what do they know about anything?