Haven't posted for a few days, my hand is killing me. Swollen up with veins standing up bright blue. Woke me up the other night. Its obviously a terrible curse put upon me. I bet Fatso knows something about this.
And don't think i got any sympathy from him either. He was looking a bit dejected when i went in there today. His last two novels "My trips to the Cash & Carry" and "There's no bloody Barcode on this one!" have not been well received. They can currently be found in the bargain basket at Wilkinsons. And his Groucho club mates have been seen wooing and flirting with the Polish Grocer up, the road. If you ask me, he's better off without them, all that bloody twittering from Stephen Fry and Jonathon Ross. But he hasn't asked me so i'll keep quiet.
Got wound up this morning. What a surprise! Some Dad at the school gates told me my Son was good at football but not exceptional. Bastard. And how funny this Dad should get such insight. And what a coincidence that his own son never ever gets picked for the school team like mine. How strange that is. Oh Lordy! Can't they just play lacrosse instead?
Hand hurts. Going for a fag.