The other night, I was awoken at 3am to the sound of alarming, high pitched screams from outside. This meant only one of two things…
Either John Terry had been caught cheating again, and his wife had gone for his genitals with a pair of scissors OR the foxes are back and playing ‘doctors and nurses’ in the garden.
As Mr. Terry was on TV this afternoon, apparently with his meat and two veg, I can only assume the screams were caused by the latter.
To avoid listening to foxy porn every night throughout the summer, I am being forced to sleep with my bedroom windows closed, despite the heat 
I said it last year – I need a horse and a pack of hounds!
It is far too hot to sleep tonight.
What’s worse; the local foxes are screaming again. It sounds like The Animals of Farthing Wood performing an X-Factor audition for Simon Cowell.
Mark my words – I will be buying a horse, a horn and a pack of hounds in the morning.
I will be off to bed shortly, where I will be hoping for a good sleep and not to be awoken in the same manner I was the previous night…
It must have been 2am when I was disturbed by a loud screaming from outside. In my dazed, half-asleep state, I thought something terrible must have been happening on a nearby street.
As I woke up and acquired my senses, I realised the screeches were not as a result of murder, rape or Cristiano Rolando tripping over a stray twig and grazing his knee. They were, in fact, the sound of foxes – either fighting, mating or simply entering a ‘who can scream the loudest and wake Sean up’ competition.
If the same occurs tonight, I will be buying a pack of hounds in the morning and releasing them the next evening to track down and put an end to the noisy bastards.
I may end up with one of these rugs in the next few days
I won’t bore everyone too much with my Crimbo stories, so don’t worry.
My sister, inspired by Nigella Lawson, decided she wanted to take charge of the Christmas dinner this year. Her being a newbie to the kitchen, and me not being a fan of turkey, I was very surprised and impressed with the results. It was certainly better than the food at the work Christmas party.
Unfortunately, I will be unable to return the favour next year. I am no Gordon Ramsey. I’m not even a Jamie Oliver. I am a RUBBISH cook, and until Bird’s Eye start making microwave Christmas meals, I am staying out of the kitchen.
The afternoon was spent on the Wii and terrorising the Issy the cat. Somebody bought her a pair of novelty antlers. It was very difficult getting her to keep still so we could attach the gift to her head, but after the threat of using staples was issued, she agreed to wear them and no person or animal was hurt. I think she was so full of turkey and tired, that she just agreed in order to get some peace and quiet.
There was no way she was going to wear them
In the end, she just gave in
As usual, Christmas telly was rubbish. I was forced to endure EastEnders. What a horrible programme. The Royle Family was brilliant and the only decent thing on TV.
Boxing Day, I went to Twerton Park to receive my pressie from Bath City – a 2-0 win over Dorchester. It was bitterly cold. I nearly got frostbite on my toes and fingers and even contemplated calling mountain rescue to save me from the Arctic conditions. Never mind, I’m off to Bitton today to watch another game of non-league football – and yes, it is just as cold outside!
No, I haven’t turned my blog into a porn site (although I probably have received 10,000,000 new hits). The pussy I am on about is the feline kind – i.e. pussy-cat.
Last week, my dad randomly went out and bought a kitten. At first I was sceptical. I don’t like cats and was annoyed he didn’t buy a dog instead – a much nicer animal. However, after spending an evening tormenting the poor creature* I have come to accept that this particular cat, along with lions and tigers, are cool.
The kitten got me thinking; when a cat falls, it always lands on its feet. When you drop toast on the floor, it always lands jam side down. So, what happens if you spread jam on a cat’s back and throw it off a table? I am yet to find out, but I predict it to hover in mid-air – either that or for the universe to implode.
* no cat was hurt during the making of this blog.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
