C’or Blimey Guv’nr

It’s all kicking off. My sister in law, BLESS HER, (I hate her guts), has decided to take the government to court about the Universal Credit debacle, and ran an article in the Mirror. And included her kids’ names. And did not include the fact that my brother DOES contribute more than half to their upkeep and now other English papers and the Hull local rag has published an actual fucking photo of my niblings and their feckless but righteous mother.

Not only that has kicked off, this week, but the government has also unravelled a little bit more; leaving us to the machinations of twattish ERG maniacs who will ruin the vestiges of the UK that weren’t totally shit to begin with (pre-2016). I despair.

But hurray. This evening I attended my first Nihongo business ‘party’. This entails renting a spot in a restaurant, paying a fixed amount, and then receiving food that is brought out (allegedly ad infinitum, but this is Japan and they are not the pigs that us in the UK and USA are), and drink. The drink *was* ad infinitum, so I have had maybe four glasses of fizz and two glasses of red wine and, safe to say, I am pished.

Oliver is listening to vintage ‘Nebulus’ on his MP3 player (thank you ever so much Graham Duff and Mark Gatiss for this gift) and George is listening to the Jungle Book. (Erm, yes, thank you Amazon and Audible for that one. Not quite as right-on as previously.)

Obviously I would LOVE to stay awake to find out whether Our Theresa gets to keep her venomous job, but I think I will have to go to sleep.

Night night everyone. God bless us every fucking one.

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