Wrong side of bed?

The Olympic torch passed our way yesterday. I was about as interested in that as I am in Philippa’s ongoing ankle problems, but at least the store was quiet while people went off to watch the relay. The Games are going to be a nightmare. Our bosses are determined to take advantage and make ten billion pounds in a month so we’ll have yet more Union Jack tat and Olympics-themed souvenir shit clogging up the aisles. I might book the whole fortnight off and go and live in a cave somewhere.

Looks like being another month of rain here in Norfolk.
To cheer myself up, I’ve decided to invent my own chocolate bar.
I want it to have a biscuit base and then a top layer of peanuts, caramel, coconut and raisins. I might call it a PHILIPPA.
I actually get aroused just thinking about the taste.  (of the chocolate bar, that is, not Philippa. Although now you mention it……)

I’m going to stop typing now because I’m feeling negative and moody, so I‘m going to sit in the garden with a bottle of wine and throw crab apples at the plastic flamingoes.

RC 5-7-12