Everybody squirts, sometimes

This week, and I'm only telling you cos I know you care, I've been mostly busy doing feck all.

I've been driving round the place like a maniac dropping people off and picking people up and still haven't put the much needed water and oil into my car, although I did put air in the tyres and diesel in the tank so it really ought to be grateful. And stop encouraging birds to shit on it. You'd think three layers of muck and bird shit would be enough for any car but no, mine wants more, the tart.

I'm not getting a great amount of time alone so I'm having a bit of a manic. Can't see this abating anytime soon cos tonight is my nephews 18th birthday party, tomorrow morning is a karate seminar (hangover dependent), tomorrow afternoon is a meal out for babygirl's birthday then tomorrow evening is the blogblast. All these things will be fun but I'm very aware that I'll be in public persona for all events and it's bloody tiring sometimes. Especially when I'm this fucking fat!

Still, Sunday afternoon will be just me. And the 2 litres of water. And the painkillers. Cold as ice cream but still as sweet, that'll be me. Ding dang doo.




The title came from my silly head as I was chopping salad for lunch and a tomato spat juice all up my white tiles which made me think initially of the money shot and then start singing sad songs replacing the word hurt/s with squirt/s which made them much less sad.