Ola,
We are on holiday in Spain at the moment. Bleedin’ hot and my prickle heat has flared up. Scratching more than a Rap DJ I was until we found a bottle of Calamine lotion. Best to drink it as a shandy though.
I picked up an ear infection from the hotel pool and have produced enough ear wax to polish dear old Grandma On The Pot’s sideboard, wardrobe and coffin (She’s always been one with an eye on the future).
Unfortunately I mixed up my lovely wife Shirley’s suntan lotion whilst packing for the trip. I think creosote has a lovely pine fresh smell and will stop any chance of Shirl developing wood rot in years to come. “Thick Twat,” she called me in the lovely jokey way of hers!
The room is lovely although the walls are a bit thin. So when I heard Shirl’s sister Doreen telling the young Spanish led she picked up (literally – it is her idea of foreplay) “I’ll tell yer when yer tired Pedro,” my heart went out to him. Poor lad had to be medically evacuated after she’d finished with him. Her needs are truly terrifying.
The toilet seat hinges are a bit wonky. This provides an unsteady platform to produce me goods so to speak. Who needs a Wii when you can spend a happy half hour surfing on your seat? Now there’s an idea to make me a million. But the bidet is different class.
I love bidets. After the wheel they are the greatest invention ever. Not only wash yer back passage, but soak yer smalls and also a handy foot spa! Multi use or what?
Anyway, off to “The Top O’ The Mornin’ To Ye” for a pint. It’s an Irish Bar in case you hadn’t guessed. Everywhere’s got an Irish Bar. Why are they all crap? Still, does an all day English breakfast for only 3 Euros. What more can a man want than 35 Degree heat, a fried egg sandwich and a pint of San Domestos?
Class in a glass.
Ole!
Laters and Lids Down Gentlemen
