He’s moved house, less storage space, still not having the printer, I’ve killed the cactus.

Get me, remembering the password after not logging in for ten billion years.
Still alive.

That man would fall into a barrel of tits and still come out sucking his thumb.

Wet bank holiday weekend, Twitter has shat in the bath.

I pity you lot, it’s going to be busy in here.

I’ve just put some part-prepped food in the fridge, so I can mix things up, and not get bored.
Don’t want any of it already. It’ll all end up in the freezer.

Pointless update to keep the account active. There’s a new weird woman at the food hub, she says God told her to talk to me. I’ll be watching the women’s rugby this weekend to learn tackling tactics, in case she offers to pray for me.
(Women’s rugby is rugby.)

I’m just as bad here as I was over there.

I’m a potato with wool for hair.

Stolen from the sinking ship

Hello new people.
I don’t post much, and when I do, it’s generally gibberish.
Gets late early, doesn’t it?

I see you bought a double bed- here’s a slightly different one!
Aye, mate, I’ll stack them, shall I?

Checking in. Rachel was worried about you because you hadn’t been on the horrorshow for a couple of weeks.

Same, how many of the same thing do I need, you knobbers?

Posting, in case you have to be active every so often to keep your account open or something, I don’t know.
The most interesting thing that’s happened so far today is dropping a tub of Polos down the side of my chair.

Cartoon of the Anatomy of a slug. "Head end" --- All of my fucking vegetables --- Arse end

RIP my courgettes and cucumbers, you bastards

Dad hasn't brought me tomato plants for a couple of years. He's not dead, he's still posting 'Vauxhall Nova' and such on the Fakebook phishing things every so often. Someone would've told me if he'd died. Probably.

I'm a potato goblin, but my Dad is made out of the bits left over from the creation of Worzel Gummidge and the Wombles. We never stood a chance.
I was at my brother's on New Year's Day, a Doberman the size of a donkey tried to eat the trifle.

I always set off too many tomato plants, in case some of them fail. None of them do, and I'm too soft to discard them. Sometimes my Dad brings me extra tomato plants, because, old men, and tomato plants. I have learned to like tomatoes. I won't set off as many tomato seeds this year.

No, I'll sort out what I'm planting garden-food wise this year.
These are all words, which, independently made sense. I have ginsomnia.

I'd have no excitement, though, nothing to twitch my curtains for!
(Wouldn't have set fire to the bunting, it was plastic, imagine the smell, and cutting the wires to the incessant-flashing-migraine-trigger-lights is a Big Danger.) I'm visited once a week, it's do-able.

Absolutely. I have all my social media as evidence of their ongoing harassment. I'd better go back and delete all the bits where I threatened to set fire to their jubilee bunting, and cut the wires on their Christmas lights...

3am. Shall I try to figure out what I'd look like as a Viking?
I already look like I sleep in a ditch and might inflict grievous damage. Also, I'm not taking a photo, my hair's all mad and sticky-up.

The world, as seen through my window.
They mess with my bins, as well.

The thing is, the drives are long enough for two cars, they just park like twats. His van is halfway up my drive, so her back bumper is hanging out over the kerb.
Wouldn't be the first time.

Her car is at the far end of the drive, arse-out over the pavement. The bin goes there. I had no choice but to park the bin right up against her car door. (Bin day's usually Friday, but it's altered this week, bloody Romans, coming over here, messing with the bins.)

I don't think I have any glue, though, so I'm going to have to stick the glitter on with Primula cheese spread.

That means I can decorate them, right? I'm sure there's some glitter here.

I don't drive/have a car. When I'm expecting visitors, I post a note 'booking' my own drive. Ridiculous. (This is all just ludicrous commentary on my very dull life.)

I don't have anything good to put in the skip. Or anything interestingly-bad.