Christ isn’t this weather awful, I arrived back from my birthday dog walk, bedraggled and irritated. At being 52 and no longer being 51. Liver spots ( I think they’re called) have started to appear on my hands and whilst mstill being relatively fit; I put my self in the top 30%, because I’m not keen to accept the truth that I may be heading for an early grave, as we all are or could be. Don’t worry reader, the situation is normal, still drinking too much, but only beer, travelling 3 miles a day on foot, but only walking, and am making a concerted effort to give up smoking for the um-teenth time, I’ve lost count, problem is I like it and I look really sophisticated.

Since we last spoke a lot has happened, I’ve had a birthday, weight, I suspect, will have remained relatively static, the scales have run out of batteries, my daughter returned from Manchester Uni to have her birthday with us, which  is my birthday, or rather was my birthday; the blogger who previously had a birthday, and as this is a mouthful I will, in true rock star style, change my given name to coordinate. Daughter is 20 now, which may have some bearing on why I feel so fucking old and there is a bloody awful war going on in my living room and laptop every day between Israel and anyone in Gaza. It’s a terrible affair for sure and I’m absolutely convinced that the EDL who marched on the Cenotaph in London this weekend will have made their point. Their point being that they are absolute knuckle dragging fucktards, chuckleheads of the highest order, with no setting other than to get pissed and shout abusive and abhorrent things without understanding what they are really doing between cans of Stella. I’ve got no further on with my new business venture as I’m scared to speak to the website people because they will probably think I’m a dick; not for the business, which is a good one, but for my inability to contact them whilst I’m paying for the subscription (its not much, pretty much noise level, but still, its money). My job, actual job is being run by actual aliens and lab rats with no knowledge of the business in hand, and maybe soon, someone will see sense, sell us to Google or Apple or someone else; the ZX 81 people probably, and offer me a fat redundancy cheque allowing me to procrastinate until the sun comes up again and the leaves start to grow on the trees. The Hot tub is empty but is sporting a ring of dirt around where the water level used to be, I’ve got to clean it, to disinfect it and this requires dry weather, of which there is none and patience, of which there is none either.

Fans of the blog may recall that I used to be prolific, I feel the wind has fallen from my sails somewhat in the last year or so, post Covid, my job has been shit, not the job, but the folk in charge, the Economy has imploded since Brexit, kids can’t leave Uni and work in Europe for more than 3 months before they are called back to the motherland to work in the fucking fields, honestly its like some sort of sick Day release centre, like a tourist visa from North Korea, go and see what a little bit of the world is like, but then you will come back to the bleakness. 

I’ve got very few problems though, I understand that, friends and people I don’t know have significantly worse issues than I do, but I’m not them and so can only write for myself, so if you’re reading this, tell your friends and send money, gift vouchers, postcards or knickers to The Lion, Clifton Upon Teme, Worcestershire, England. I’ll pick em up when I’m down there, usually on a Friday Night, except next Friday when I’ve got to drive to Norwich to see “The Cult” a band from my youth. My friend had sorted me a ticket assuming I was about 90 minutes drive from Norwich when in fact I’m about 4 hours away. I did geography A level with this bloke. Good to speak to you, if you’re listening, and I’ve nothing to say to you if you’re not; it would be a waste of breath.