As I recover from what was a pitifully rubbish football day, although my under-achieving 5-a-side bunch (admit it, Penfold, we are!) could give England a lesson methinks, I look to the future, and look back at what was probably a disappointing year at the bungalow domestically. Ok, the near-constant rain didn't help, but numerous other factors just seem to be too obvious in their non-occurances. Oh, and there is the question of company, which I'll get back to when I'm settled in the new gaff.
Ah, yes, the new gaff, resplendant in it's Victorian brownstone glory in the shadow of two ruddy great gas towers. Kidding, aside, nice place, bigt double room and a relaxed landlord who would rather just keep Estate Agents out of the mix. (I think I'm in love). Yup, don't get us started on those bastard swines of whores.
The new gaff, as it shall forever be known with all it's symbolic awesomeness, will see my physog next week and hopefully the 'net by Christmas. And, yay, an allegedly wonderful chippy lies within 10 minutes walk.
Until then, there will be a week of tidying, boxing, goodbyes, good riddances, and tea brewed via saucepans. How Marxist.
So yes, I will do my best to update goings on here but intermittently possibly. If all goes according to plan , I may have had my way with an LA-based rockstar I've fancied since I was 17. And when I say my way, I mean a peck on the cheek and a photo with bad light. Ahem.