Been ages since I wrote here. Broke both hands in a fisting fishing accident in January. So what with my weak wrists and the dodgy speech recognition on me iMac I have avoided confessionalising. Big news is me and Niamh made up! Her mam is still sending me poo’s in the mail, but since I moved back home we can face that problem as a family. Speaking of which, Andrew’s coming up on the big one one, time for the special talk about you know what. Sex. Can’t wait!
Had to take Andrew to casualty. The lady doctor said there should be no lasting damage from the shock, but not to mention cadbury’s caramels, republicanism, or hair nets around him for the forseeable.
Andrew’s bleeding from the arse, this doesn’t look good. I swear, the power of suggestion! Knew I should have bought that kryptonite for daddy’s secret cabinet.
Whenever I watch the weather I always imagine the forcasters hand as a big threatening giant hand looming in the sky. Imagine the size of the cuticles.
Finished me jigsaw of the Lindisfarne & Budle Bay estuary. Went for a walk, left leg is a bit stiff from a misunderstanding with the wife. Wish I’d realised ‘harder’ was a rubbish safe word. For a minute I thought someone was following me, so I found a doorway, lowered me cacks and waited for a nice surprise, but all I got was a chilly arse.
Wouldn’t you know it, I forgot me own birthday. Trust Niamh, she had me back, and eight of the lads from the club judging by the sexy video she made me. Or maybe only seven lads. Pretty sure Arthur G. is a drag king, either that or he’s has the greasiest mickey in Dublin. Each to their own.
Andrew’s bum is healing well, which is good news, because Friday night means it’s time for daddy’s tasty vindaloo!