So, here we are. Four months later and not a word. Thought I'd better catch up before the wee man's birthday. Two! Can you believe it! Two years have just slipped past. Here's some pictures. You can see that the Bob's thriving well on his fine Scottish diet of Irn Bru. He's looking a bit tasty, don't you think? Aye, well so did some wee chav animal at his nursery. Bit hit! On the face! Kick 'er f%$@ing face in, I say. I'll teach him that later when M's not looking.
We're just back from a glorious weekend of cheese at the delightful Brighouse Bay holiday park. What were we thinking: camping in October? Aye, bloody fools. The wind blew wild and the wind blew strong. Tent pole snapped! Oh fuckeroo. Aha! Oho! Tent flat on the floor. How many miles back to homio?
Bah, none of that. Instead we rented a lovely static caravan. What's that you say: cheesy decor in the style of a retirement flat, complete with the smell of wet dog and wee? Not at all, luxury I say. Central heating, a cooker, toilet in the night-time that isn't an empty bottle.
Speaking of ahas and ohos, check out this couple of arses. I mean, Julia, your books are great (apart from that Charlie Cook crap, I mean, when the staff in bookshops are telling you not to buy books, you should know there's something wrong) but give up the singing.
Anyhow, the boy's two soon. Feel free to send cheques, postal orders and bottles of whisky. I'll look after them for him. Best make the cheques out to me. He hasn't got an account and he'll be too busy on his birthday present - a dandy horse. Better still, send cash. Or an ipod nano. Anything.
