Earlier in the week he took to blowing his nose in the curtains but yesterday decided curtains were no longer needed and pulled them down.
I told The Sainted Mammy she should’ve just gone all Belushi on his arse, wrapped him up in one and started chanting,
“Toga! Toga! Toga!”
She may as well get the benefit of a second childhood with him!
He is on Seroquel these days and is a lot less agitated.
My poxy mobile is playing up.
A while back the socket for the charger disappeared somewhere in the phone and the fucker wouldn’t charge.
I took it to a repair place and the man patronisingly explained every process it would take to fix it, for £25.
I thanked him, brought it home, followed his instructions and fixed the fucker myself.
Or so I thought.
Remember how eventually Walkman headphones would have to be wrapped around the machine, in a sort of Cat‘s Cradle affair, so that you got music in BOTH ears?
I’m now having to do something similar to get a charge into the phone.
My burning question of the day is, why don’t Marmite make butter?
It would stop the ‘Transference’ issue rearing its ugly head.
RIP Popet the Greyhound.
Another dog attacked her today and she didn’t make it.
I’m gutted.
2 comments:
I don't believe I'm familiar with Popet the greyhound. Not a nice end though:((
Oh dear, the Sainted Mammy really should be canonised. People have been made saints for far less worthy reasons than the Mammy.
And it's about time there was a saint of telecommunications, then there'd be someone to talk to about it which could be more effective and less expensive than the shop person.
M fostered Popet for a year while her owner was in Turkey.
There should be a St Fucknows, patron of Alzheimer's patients and carers.
Post a Comment