Tuesday, December 08, 2009


Frank, my banker, is in a state of high dudgeon. My brother in law, while discussing his overdraft arrangements, was shocked to be told that "I suppose you think I'm the big bad wolf now?". Bruv replied, quite reasonably, "No, I think you're a big fat idiot".

I feel for Frank. All those large lunches paid for on the Bank credit card have settled on his infeasibly large number of chins and huge posterior.

It's tough enough when you're trying to do your bit for clean living in difficult circumstances, it's even worse when my proxy relatives start abusing you in public. The worrying thing is, I think he enjoys it. Frank that is, not Bruv.

Shout at the fat fuckers; sometimes you get results.

We've all been screwed and we can't borrow at reasonable rates. Mr Darling, he of the white hair and improbably black eyebrows, is about to announce a windfall tax on the bonuses of the leeches that caused this mess. It's for one year only.

If they don't like it they can fuck off to Zurich and wank over their Toblerone.