An English weekend. The right amount of doing nothing, the right amount of seeing people, some family time, some music, tiffin with the Queen, storming the White Palace and demanding a socialist revolt.
Well, most of that happened.
I’ve now got an English migraine which is the same as migraines all over the world except it wears a bowler hat. I blame driving amongst buttheads who don’t know why it’s a stupid idea to meander all over the lanes without indication. For my migraine, not for bowler hats. Bowler hats have been around for longer than the motor vehicle. Probably. I’ve not researched this fact or anything. If I say it again – bowler hats were invented before the motor vehicle – then that makes it true. Ask Trump. Who was invented before brains but after fascism.
Um. I have nothing of import to write about. Not that this usually prevents me spurting word crap over the screen/page. Blah blahdi blah, oh blah di, or something Beatlish.
Er. I am not an avocado, this has been proven. I might be The Mikado but Gilbert and Sullivan aren’t really my cup of tea. Fish chips cup o tea awful food worse weather: London. I’ll do ya a faver, I’ll stap wroitin’ now.