Yesterday once more

Bloody hell it's cold. Here in the Midlands the temperature never seems to climb above 'bloody cold', or at least has not for the last couple of days and it's raw. Forget day-glo-got-tex or whatever, what you need is a couple of boy scouts to rub together, a consequential fire to toast against and some scones to top the whole thing off.

So what else does one do apart from visit a garden centre. Mid-weeek, these places are filled with the limp and the lame, those in wheelchairs, those in powered wheelchairs anhd those who are presumably dead and whose keepers are driving around in wheelchaairs until the next series of 'Robot Wars'.

And me, trying to keep warm by hanging around the patio heater exhibition, oh, and finally getting my hands on a box of 'silent roar'. This is petrified puma pee and is supposed to put the wind right up yer cat who thinks that my garden, with all the new plants I've bought today, is is own personal loo.

And if that don't work, it's super soaker time.

Have also come across old diary from when I was 16. Reads just like my blog except, if memory serves, all the women discussed were thinner.