I think I'm getting old
The evidence is as follows:

My sole desire on a Sunday is to clean the car. (OK, it's had 2 weeks of muddy/sandy boots to deal with, and been parked under a tree inhabited by something which to judge by the evidence is the size of a vulture and has very poor bowel control)

I've been surfing for bunkbeds for the spawn instead of weird t'internet stuff. Comparing bloody furniture rather than latex bound donkey gwar grot. Sheesh.

Junior bought me my first pair of slippers for Inseminator's Day. Homer Simpson slippers. When not at work, I have worn boots or flipflops for his entire life, and he gets me Homer Bloody Simpson slippers.

I've hung a picture up under the steely glare of the Obergruppenfuhrer. A picture that I had been studiously avoiding hanging up as it has flowers on it. Where did my poster of The Scream go?

I'll be cooking up a nice shoulder of baa-lamb later for a 'family' Sunday roast type thingy. I should be opening the super-chilled bottles of Gordons and Stolichnaya in the eternal search for the perfect Dry Martini, but no I'm off to Tesco.

We've just picked some mange tout from the garden to accompany the leftover lamb with crispy chilli noodles that will be scoffed tomorrow. Growing my own non-hallucinogenic plants? Help.

All very fluffy, but it's not exactly rock and bleedin' roll, is it?

*sighs*
(osok Rebel without a clue, Sun 10 Aug 2008, 13:41, Reply)