Thursday 2nd December 2021

Dear Diary,

Just skating in to open a page for December. The end of the year looms already, and it’s been another turbulent one. I can’t believe we’re still in the grip of a virus that has undergone more transformations than Madonna. Yes! I know! I’m whinging again and I don’t care. It’s my diary and I’ll whinge if I want to!

I’m fed up of this covid shit show. I’m fed up of not knowing what’s coming next. I’m tired of the lack of spontaneity in life at the moment. And (tossing in a random political rant) I’m sick of Boris Johnson and his sack of twats. I’ll leave that one there because I can’t be arsed to take it anywhere. You know the drill anyway. I blame the Tories for every ill on earth, and rightly so.

Shane accused me of getting out of bed the wrong side this morning, and he’s right. I’m in a pig of a mood. I get like that sometimes. I’ve been warned, in no uncertain terms, to sort myself out before he gets home this evening or there’ll be trouble. Hence me slipping in here to have a grump, in the hope of dissipating my bad temper.

Mind you, I wasn’t the only grump in the quasi mansion this morning. Both men folk had cobs on when they saw the snow that had piled up overnight. It’s a winter wonderland in our portion of the planet. Driving in snowy conditions isn’t their favourite thing. Dick doesn’t have as far as Shane to drive, but still he complained. Shane told him to work from home, but Dick took one look at my sour mush and said he’d rather brave the snow than stay at home with a hissy houseboy.  

Working from home has never really suited him. He had to during the height of the pandemic again, but as an experiment prior to that it never really panned out. And it wasn’t to do with us getting on each other’s tits. It was love - for his car. Not driving everyday became a source of pain for a petrol head like him. I’d often find him standing on the drive, with a mug of tea in his hand, and tears in his eyes, as he stared longingly at the garage housing his precious vehicle. In the end he couldn’t bear it a moment longer and set about finding premises far flung enough to warrant jumping in his motor on a daily basis. He rents rooms above a solicitor’s office now. His former secretary, Julie, is back working for him too. He’s happy.

I suppose I’d better make a move. I’ve got jobs to do. Having a moan has done me good. The snow has also put me in a festive frame of mind. I’m going to dig out some Christmas swags and lights. My Christmas tree is ordered, but it doesn’t arrive until next week, so I’ll have to satisfy my festive frame by dressing the mantelpiece in the lounge. Shane will claim it’s far too early, but tough, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Tuesday 14th December 2021

Dear Diary,

My festive frame didn't last long. It withered on the vine.Things are rather fraught here with one thing and another, including the new covid variant. Why call in Omicron? Just call it Twat. It says it all. Twat! Covid hates Christmas and is determined to screw up another one and thus has unleashed the Twat variant, or the Shithead strain if you prefer.

We have yet to finalise plans for Christmas and it’s getting on my tits to be honest. I suppose it all hangs on what restrictions are imposed, if any.

I’ll take this chance to wish you all the best of the season. Thank you for reading my chunterings. Thank you for all your good wishes and emails. Stay safe, Peeps. Let’s hope 2022 brings better times. I’m especially thinking of you, TF. Sending kind thoughts your way. X


Enjoy what you can with the people you love. X

Make a free website with Yola