OINK OINK

For someone who is easily perturbed and can spend hours fretting over many a What If? scenario I have not been troubled by the latest flu scare stories even though I am and have been for two weeks suffering from it. I think what has kept me going is the so called scandal involving MP's expenses. MP standing for Major Ponce it seems. Ever since Lord Irving and his flock wallpaper and Cherie Blair frothing at the mouth when told she could take a few gifts from an Australian department store and ended up with over sixty items in her trolley I have been convinced that all MPs suffer from that syndrome where you can't bring yourself to put your hand in your pocket and cough up for anything anymore as for so long it's all been a freebie. I last saw it in action, albeit in infancy, at The Drury Lane Theatre's Christmas party a few years back when Dave the fireman spluttered a vol au vent over me as he tried to balance an overloaded plate of party food and tell me 'it's all free, go and grab some'.

Meanwhile, here in the Merthyr Tidfil of Spain a huge binge has been going on round the corner much to the annoyance of the locals who if they did manage to get some sleep woke up to the many body fluids to be expected on streets throughout Europe over the weekend. Henderson asked me what the strange noise was the following day and I told him it was the vomit cleaner, the man who drives a little cleaning machine that does a good job of getting rid of DNA.

The trend of daylight robbery never seems to end here with one story involving some dude described as dark, corpulent and wearing overalls, welding goggles, hard hat and brandishing a knife trying to rob old ladies who run cake shops and haberdasheries. With the construction industry the worst hit during this recession it seems fitting that he chose this disguise although on his second robbery he ran off and left it all including the knife and money in the park.

To end it all for today I couldn't help overhearing people introducing themselves and their details on that dreadful programme with that awful woman Ann Robinson called The Missing Link and felt compelled to enter the room and announce to the tele " Hi, I'm Ana, I'm 43 and I'm sick to death of the lot of you'.

Goodnight. x