I don’t like Mondays

I’m not awfully keen on Mondays. Actually I’m not particularly keen on mornings generally – being something of a creature of the night.

Just been rudely awoken by the planet’s noisiest bin men. Never understand why they just settle for kicking my wheely bin round a few times and thumping the side of the dustcart whist revving the engine till the governor cuts in. Go on Why not go the full hog? Blow the bloody lot up with some gelignite and let me get back to sleep!

I have a shed load of work to do but no energy or inclination to do it. Coffee has gone cold again and I can’t be bothered to waddle over to the microwave to heat it up again. And I can’t find my goose shoes. In fact, I am of the opinion the world is full of bastards and they are all out to get me. As as the late Kenneth Williams observed in his toga-clad role as Julius Caesar in Carry on Cleo,

The infamy, the infamy, they’ve all got it in for me!

A small accident

I had a small car accident the other day. I drove the goosemobile into the back of someone else’s car at some traffic lights. Little bloke, less than one metre tall got out of the other car, banged on my window and shouted, “I’M NOT HAPPY!

I wound down the window, looked down at him and asked, “Sorry mate, which one are you then?