Woke up this morning full of the joys of Spring. Sunlight gently massaging my fur.  Scent of new born flowers bellowing across the estate. The flag on my old jolly roger rising.  I feel mighty good about the world and every beautiful fucker in it. Feel so good that I’m inspired to start this blog about the sublime joy that can be found sunbathing within these concrete casings of inner London.

Bollocks to that!! Its fucking freezing. Its fucking hailing, Its fucking April. I’m drinking extra strong lager for breakfast to keep the warm in and the hangover out. Spring has been cut by this arsehole tosspot coalition government as another benefit too many for the common man.

Remember the old days? Springs started in Spring. That was official. I remember the rude thump of willow hitting cranium on the estate green. I remember lying on the roof of the Rabbit Tower sniffing glue and hallucinating divine retribution to all that would cross me. Wearing just my Y Fronts. Then down the boozer for a few thirst quenching snakebites and a letch at the ladies sporting their flimsy cotton dresses for the first time since last year. The surest sign that Spring had truly sprung. Rocking.

So drop us out, Lord God Almighty. Its brass monkeys down here. Switch the fucking heating on. Please.

Want to know what I think? This country has turned to shit. We used to be a great nation. Was respected the world over. Had an empire. Won a World Cup. Were top boys in everything we did. But just look at us now.

Football is dead. Full of millionaire Johnny foreigners prancing around in all seater stadiums with cameras everywhere.  No fun to be had there no more.  Music is dead. What happened to punk? Where’s the one, two, three, four, nut that student to the floor. Don’t even get me started me on pubs. Think they’re fuckin’ restaurants.  Idiots bring their families. And drink coffee.  That ain’t a fuckin boozer. Where the likes of me hold court from their own personal bar stool. Deal a bit of knock off and pick me up. And have a good blether.

Everything now is technology, technology, technology. All punters do all day is tap tap tap into internet on their fuckin’ phones. No one wants to listen to the likes of me putting the world to rights during the licensed hours.

Well you ain’t getting away that easy. One of my boys lifted me a computer. An old Polaq no less. And they set me up the Bastard Bunny Blog. So I can now broadcast from the pub and out onto the streets. So you’d better listen up to what the Bastard Bunny’s got to say. Things ain’t wot they used to be. And I’m going to tell you all about it.