4 days to go till we, the people, get our chance to pencil Mr Brown out of Downing Street.
39 days to go till we, the England supporters, the most patient of all footie fans, get the chance to cry and sing. More singing than crying I hope.
27 days to go till we, the camp songsters with buckets of popcorn, get our chance to watch the United Kingdom get dozens of douze points in the Eurovision Song Contest.
2 hours to go till I, the most un-fussiest of eaters, have the chance to oooh! and cor! at the sight of a perfectly roasted bird, big jug of gravy and sticky jammy ricey puddingy.
3 hours till I, the most ardent of movie watchers, rent a space on the cat-owned sofa watching something bloody and horrific.
Other things hitting the headlines......
That smarmy John Higgins, the quietest of snooker players is allegedly caught with his greedy mitts in all the pockets.
And there I was cheering him on whenever he played with Ronnie or Ebo or people of that nasty ilk. Never ever again will I trust a man who is too good to be true. Especially when my wonga is depleted. Flipping cheek!
St David of the Cameroon was out yesterday buying pre-ordered broccoli. £3 it cost him. Should have gone to Lidl's.
Yesterday Veganite Clegg sandalled his way around Glastonbury, a place I know very well, (see olde pics) yelling into a mic. I got the distinct impression that he was floundering because his usual excellent oratory. Wasn't. He needs MEAT.
Ta ta!
