I’m not broody.
For posterity, I’m going to start writing down snippets of the conversations we have here in casa Spinneyhead. Part 1 in this series-
Emily- “Why is it that Skodas only seem to be succesful if they have porn star names?”
Me- “The Skoda Fellatio? You don’t get much fellatio in a Felicia. That’s what Jaguars are for.”
Sometimes, the bogeyman is real.
Take one church, convert it to flats and put Europe’s tallest living space in the tower. Some of the decor is a bit too footballer for my liking but, I have to admit, the concept is brilliant.
The Church Inn in Uppermill, Saddleworth, now has its own graveyard. No news on whether people can be buried with a cask of their favourite.
It was reassuring to see the long line of people who also hadn’t got their tax returns done until today. I mean, I know I should have done it sooner, but at least I’m not the only one.
According to my tax return (what I have just filled out, screamed at and managed to calculate) I’m owed a couple of hundred pounds.
I just hope the Inland Revenue have as much faith in my maths as I do.
Since shutting down the PC at midnight and logging on again ten minutes ago, I received 200 e-mails. None of the dodgy ones made it off the server.