Why I sank the Hobgoblin

Well I forgot to mention it or perhaps I wasn't quite ready to but (The Slug) managed to infuriate me royally last night and how I didn't blow a gasket is simply down to flirting with the Hobgoblin instead.

He simply won't stop bringing crap into the house. In fits and starts, books, CDs, second hand videos, clothes, novelties, decrepit junk he can tinker with. Then it sits about on any available flat space, including the floor. Meanwhile I'm expected to clean around it, manage it and find That Thing in the midst of all the monumental clutter.

I'm fed up, fucked off, never agreed to live this way and said so last night as I re stacked the several feet tall stacks of old videos. Guess what he came back with? "Well I didn't agree to live like this either." Which is one of the stupidest things he has ever said. I invite you to think about it and suggest what he could possibly have meant.

Bastard.

Breaking camp

Last night the offspring had to beat an unwelcome retreat to the bed upstairs. In dismantling her tent for the day yesterday she mislaid one of her tent's two poles. I was at work so know what ensued second hand but I gather the fruitless search for the pole led to her father losing his rag and the offspring being rather bruised (not, I hasten to say in the literal sense.) Now she's watching fellatio jokes on TV which is very nearly certainly something she shouldn't be doing. Yet according to her Rowan Atkinson is being silly, not rude, so I gather most of it is flying over her head.

I'm horribly hung over and sluggish today. I've done nothing but push a couple of loads through the washing machine. The floors are grotty, the bathroom demands vigorous scrubbing, the beds need changing and I can't be bothered. Hopefully this binge will come to an end soon. I much prefer not having a head full of cotton wool.