My father in law got a good send off. I seriously doubt that there will be 60 people at my funeral. I have decided that I do not want anyone to wear black at my final shindig. Such a dreary colour. No tears either. I have had a blast and there are no need for tears when I go. In fact, I may include a clause that anyone caught crying has to get a round in.
I noticed that the shenanigans continued unabated while I was otherwise engaged.
The bankers carried on ripping us off. No doubt that the fine they were issued with will be clawed back from an increasingly gullible public. Lovely.
The banners have decided that we must not, absolutely must not have the right to think for ourselves, and they will inject their poison into children in order to get their own way. Delightful.
The wankers in government steal yet more of our money to throw at a failed experiment. Marvelous.
The people continue to be robbed. Peter simply must be paid and Paul will be relieved of his money to satisfy that demand. Thirteen years of Labour incompetence. We will be paying for that mismanagement for decades. Hallelujah.
The architect of that historic failure wants to move back into Number 10. Are you fucking kidding? I seriously hope so.
Five stories, all from the same newspaper. I dread looking at the others.
We need cheering up.
This gave me a smile:
Rebels: gotta love 'em.
Have a good week, what's left of it.