OK. So the sun has being shining on our fair estate. Temperatures are up. Summer is here. But my routine is my routine. Get up. Toilet. Go down pub. Look after business. I have an executive role, right? I am a businessman. I work inside. So if one more of you clowns out there says to me ‘Oh boy, you have really caught the sun.’ there will be consequences. I have not caught the sun. I have been drinking strong lager. Got that? Thank you. Over and out.
OK. So I went out down the corner shop yesterday lunchtime to get the Sunday supplementals. The Sunday Bun obviously. And I stopped off at the pub next door for a spot of lager refreshment. To warm me up on what was, of course, a freezing summer’s afternoon.
And yes, I came back around midnight a bit worse for wear on those body warmin’ lagers and a couple of Bloody Stupid cocktail shakers I’d had to help ease ‘em down (see June 17th blog for recipe).
And it’s true, I did pass out on the sofa while watching BunnyBabeStation. And somehow me undercrackers had found their way down and round me ankles.
But I ask you. Is that a reason to wake me up on a Monday morning with a boiling hot mug of tea in me coupon? Especially when she’s added ten sugars so it caught hold of me fur like a friggin’ napalm attack!!!
Something tells me Selina ain’t as happy as wot she used to be.
I remember when I was kid the summers were long and the grass was green. Even in the inner city. In those days, Wimbledon was a big thing in our house. Me ma and Tex used to go down the District Line and nick strawberries and champagne of the toffs.
And I always wanted to be a ball boy. Bastard Bunny Ball Boy. Had a ring to it. Anyways, the old man soon beat that school boy dream out of me sayin’ he’d rather I became a Bastard Bunny Buftie Boy. I didn’t know what he meant but I don’t think he was being aspirational.
Next week school is out and Wimbledon starts. And guess what? It’s raining cats and dogs. Of course it is. The weather people have forecast a summer of saturation. Again!!!
So if any of you lot out there are hoping to stand proud on the hill in SW19 called Henman’s Hymen or Murray’s Misery, I strongly advise you think again. You’ll get washed out like the Scottish bumbler himself.
Go to the Stella Artois tournament instead. Down me local boozer. Love Forty? Yes I would.