And another thing

I would really love to sort this tip out.

Now that the socialist mob have extended their recently launched wizard wheeze for raking in yet more dosh (the Home Information Pack Scheme) we've got to do something [working on the assumption fir the moment that we'll ever actually do the decent thing by one another and divorce] to put the shack in order so that there's some chance of it selling.

The plain fact is the place is fit only for development. It needs virtual rebuilding from top to bottom. It's actually difficult to think of anything that would be left if I had the resources to sort it out myself and I'm certain any self respecting buyer would view things the same way.

Packed full of potential but difficult to see how anyone could have lived in this, would be how most viewers would regard the property.

So here I am struggling to keep the mountains of crap he and the offspring insist on surrounding themselves with. And he went out shopping this week and came home with six new books. That doesn't sound so bad does it. But these were all enormous coffee table books and I have absolutely no idea where to put them. We already have so many books most of them are stacked in piles (which is bad for them) or in boxes (which isn't much better).

It is heart breaking to attempt to dust and vacuum around this lot, shifting it all from one place to another to get around the house. One day I'll drag the whole fucking lot out into the back garden and set fire to it. And I'll be nicked for causing air pollution.

There ain't no justice in this world.

Fat fucker's due back. I'm sure there's more. What was it?

Meanwhile sun's over the yard arm in plenty of places. Time for drinky-poos.