Saturday (I don't want to blog about politics) night

So who did you vote for?

Oops, sorry, that's politics isn't it. I'll start again. (You better not have voted for the big 3!)

How are you enjoying your long weekend? The weather is lovely here oop north, so I went clay pigeon shooting this morning. I didn't hit shit.

A young lad of about fifteen who works at the club came up to me and asked if I was having trouble. I told him I was. "What with?", he said. Hitting the buggers! Duh! He said "There's a training trap over that way".

I'm sure he was just being helpful but he almost got shot. Although I probably would have missed.

The Ford Probe is going well. It's smooth as a babbys bum and pulls like a train. It has one big fault though, that I fixed today. It doesn't have a CD player, it has a very old Blaupunkt tape player. The blasted thing chewed up my Lynard Synard tape.

I whipped the CD player out of my old Cordoba this afternoon and bunged that in the Probe. When I say 'whipped' and 'bunged', I'm referring to a good hour of a job and a nasty gash on my finger. I also broke Mrs Buckos best kitchen knife. She doesn't know yet. Shh!

As my regular reader will know, we have no children and I don't like them. Mrs Bucko is quite good with kids though and occasionally babysits for my mates bin lid. She had her round this morning before I went shooting.

This is how much better Mrs B is with kids than me. The kid was hiding a toy and Mrs B was saying, "Where's it gone?". Well, she said where's it gone for about the millionth time when the nipper points at her arse. I blurted out, "Up your bum!??". Mrs B said, "Do you need a poo? She was right, I was wrong.

I wasn't too pleased though, that Mrs B gets the potty out and kid dropped her trollys in the living room. That's just wrong in so many ways. I took that opportunity to go for a poo myself.

It was a runny beer poo.

Did you want to hear that? I thought not, so why is it that people feel a need to talk about kids faeces? "Ooorrr, good girl done a BIG poo." Leave it out.

I'm so glad I don't have kids, I just couldn't do it.

That's it for me, I'm off to find something to do. I want to go to the pub and chew the fat with the old chaps round the bar. Mrs Bucko wants me to clean the bathroom.

Guess I'll be cleaning the bathroom then. Squeak, pass the cheese.

Happy weekend!


James Higham said...