Summer Holdiday Notes 4

Friday 18th June 2010:

Check it, thursday night I was blethering to my mither on the phone, slightly hammered on the red wine, pacing about the house and garden at the same time, like a caged animal. Turns out they were nae going away on holiday till monday so I thought “fuck it, we could fire out to the rural for a couple of days for a break“, smashing, that was the plan anyhow.
Said plan reached critical mass the following day, roughly around mid-day. Heres me thinking I had just floated the idea for the rural trip just put it out there as a loose idea, maybe we could even have left it till saturday morning…ach well, It didnae pan out that way
We took the monster for a walk, then started getting packed up for the hour’s -ish journey to Glenburn H.Q. This involved a lot of standing about for me, because I can’t be trusted to pack stuff- apart from selecting which t-shirts I want to take. I’m in charge of rounding up the laptop and camera. You see?
Anyway we made it out to the rural. Its nice. They even have broadband out here.

Saturday 19th June.

Still out in the sticks. Today has been to be honest symbolised by a large Yorkshire turd. The turd has been on everyone’s minds today, and been the subject of heated debate and analysis. The chief area is the how?, closely followed by why?
How the fuck did he manage that? Why the fuck did he go so beasty so quickly?

Anyhow, before the discovery of the festering faeces we had taken the bairn up to have a look at the livestock- just to make sure he wasnae a poof or anything. He liked the chickens, the geese and the Pigs. The Pigs were a favourite, he seemed to like the daft noises they make and the way they charged about the pen. I smelled a newly laid chicken egg, which surprisingly didn’t smell of hen toot. Ah well.
Then the shite.
Holy fuck!
I’ve been to Yorkshire, and it’s pretty civilised they have all the usual stuff we have here: TV, shops, internet banking, pubs, the whole fucking lot, really the only thing that sets them apart from the Scottish master race is just a pretty spacky accent. So to tar all the people of that area with one shit stained brush is pretty unfair, so I wont, this guy was a dirty English cunt.

Right, thats it for now.
SYLYBOC.

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