Everything's covered in filth! Look! The whole place is a complete mess. Can't find anything. Right now I'm eating scrambled eggs, with a comb, from a shoe!
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It's a bit quiet on here today. Where is everyone???
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And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Continentales with their modern international luxury roomettes and draught Red Barrel and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.
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I knew i could rely on you to put the post count up. I take it you're having lots of fun then. Remember "Don't mention ze war!!!!"
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I bet everyone is watching the football....


*ick*
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Yep

Watched the FA Cup semi, now watching a bit of Arsenal v. Liverpool and in 15 minutes or so, off to Carrow Road to watch Norwich "play"
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Isn't that a term like millitary intelligence or honest politician. Say hello to Delia for me.
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We won! And played well! What's the world coming to? That's made my weekend

Delia can get lost, by the way
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ECHO!!!!
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And then some adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman Remains to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleeding Watney's Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing "Torremolinos, torremolinos" and complaining about the food - "It's so greasy isn't it?" - and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres.
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