Too damn hot. I hate it and hate every single person who ligs about going on about how “lovely” it is. It’s too damn hot. I crawl from one room to another, trying to stay in range of the fans. I can’t sleep. It’s miserable. You finally get off and wake up in the lovely cool of the early morning only to realise you have to get up and go to work. It’s hot at work too and all there is to drink is Coke and very, very, very cold water which hurts your throat.

I want it to rain and be cold.

Missed Wimbledon completely, just like always. Tennis never interested me, even after playing it for two terms at school.

Bad Lads is back. This time, the pride of our nation are doing a compressed Parachute training course. I love this program, not because they interest me or I care about what happens to them but because they prove that I am not imagining the depths to which youth of this type has stooped. I also enjoy seeing men of character interacting with them.

I am still amazed that they still volunteer for this thing without apparantly watching any of the previous programs. They idiot who left after 1 day was incredible. Nothing that happened to him could have surprised him if he had watched any of the previous 3 series but still he couldn’t hack it.

They stand face to face with serious army types demanding to know why they are shouting. The “you can’t tell me what to do” attitude” never far from the surface. Yes, you cretin. No-one can tell you what to do. Ever. No-one can ever tell you what to do. So please, burgle my house, scratch my car and roam around in gangs of 50 terrorising housing estates. Your way is so much better.

Categories: Anger, Music, Radio, TV
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