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Wednesday, 31 May 2017

In which I don't know what's going on...

Being a bit of a TV snob, BBC4 isn't on in the morning, and I can't possibly watch those puerile eejits on Breakfast TV, One tuned the telly in to Radio 4, to be greeted by Thought for the fecking Day...

Is there really still a place for the inane babble of some religious type spouting their dictatorial nonsense? No. There is not.

Some Christian twonk droning on about the use of social media and somehow bringing in a linkage with The Prodigal Son.

It wouldn't be quite so bad if the eejit had been making it up as he went along, but no, he was clearly reading from a script and he couldn't even get that right.

Still, I suppose we should be grateful that it was a purveyor of our supposed national religion, rather than one of the imported ones that we openly now tolerate. Having no supernatural beliefs and mistrusting of those who have, I lit a fag and biffed off into the garden with Chester, the visiting cat.

When the religious sort had sheared, the news item that followed was the shocking revelation that British pensioners living in Europe might not get free health care when we've Brexitted.

Being one of the unlucky ones with no provision for retirement, very likely due to die in the saddle, my varicose veins are highly unlikely to be retiring to the sun, so frankly I don't give a kipper's dick.

Selfish? Don't care! Am putting myself first for a change.


Apparently there's a perch for your falcon in the new Bentley...

Oh fer fecks sake! I've lived too long. I don't know what's going on any more.

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