Thursday, January 07, 2010

White Britain

Suffering from weather boredom, media tedium a terminally frozen bottom and Jonathan Ross apathy. It will all pass according to my recent philosophical epiphany. I came slithering home to find a poor dead robin in the bedroom, the work of a sadistic cat no doubt. A great expanse of little feathers carpeted the carpet in sad homage to the robin, one we've probably fed and observed. I marked it's sad passing with a glass of whisky, a sausage and mustard sandwich and a few well chosen words as a tribute. I am fluent in the ancient robin dialect having successfully taking an old style O Level on the subject in 1971. The guilty cat looked on, grim faced and defiant as I hoovered up the debris.

Meanwhile we are all instructed by the BBC's doomsday weather service to "brace ourselves" for another cold night. Brace yourself? Are we all about to crash into France? Are we slipping, wheels spinning madly and uncontrollably into good old Ireland? Doesn't the UK have air bags fitted? Have you you securely fastened your seat belt and put your hand baggage under the seat? What bollox.

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