Thank **** it's Feb..

First month of the year gone, then. A month that re-united me with my oldest sister, while subjecting me to a temperature hotter than the equator on Mars and making me sweat like an obese panda in a sauna. I always feel a bit happier when January has been ripped from the calendar and discarded like a used prophylactic at a party. No offence intended, but it’s dark, depressing and pointless. A bit like Back to the Future Part II.

This may seem an odd thing to ask at this point, but why does Anusol haemorrhoid cream smell like vanilla?

SuperBowl XLIII tonight, then. I’m anticipating a tense, tight game with defence being on top for most of it, but I’m tipping Pittsburgh to win by five. I’ll even give you a score if you push me: 21-16.
Speaking of Super Bowls, Hannah has said she wants to take up pottery. I’m wondering whether she’s not still a wee bit poorly. She says she could be making all our crockery by Christmas and thereby save us a few quid. I asked her exactly how many cups and saucers we need when there’s only two of us in the house and we mostly eat from takeaways, and she called me an unsupportive fat bastard of a brother who should piss off and die in a gutter. I shall apologise later, I imagine. At least she’s not one of those giggling tit-wits who strive to become Paris Hilton. Also, now I’m earning money I’ve decided to start driving lessons, so far be it from me to shit on someone else’s lifeplans.

RC 1-2-09
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