Tuesday 3rd May

Is it just me or does anyone else think that Barack Obama’s pants are on fire?

In terms of selling a storyline that is within shouting distance of the willing suspension of disbelief, I think that Bobby getting out of the shower, (over there in Dallas, circa 1989) had more traction.

If the script-writers at USA Inc. are going to continue to claim that their dog ate it, can they please give me the back-story on which US Navy Seal had the foresight to pack, alongside his night vision goggles, bar-mines and the keys to the Chinook, ‘The Dummy’s Guide to Burying a Muslim at Sea’?

I’m thinking that maybe I should lend them the Teenager because his version of ‘blimey-how-did-that-get-there’ is streets ahead of anything I have yet heard coming out of The Whitewash.

Anyway, leaving the frantic sweeping under the rug that’s going on in ‘Did-Anyone-Remember-To-Bring-The-Electrodes-Ville’ aside, I too seem to have gotten myself up shit-creek.

I went to the cash-point last night and it informed me that, because it’s given all of my money away to other people, it could only spare me a measly £4.87.

Unfortunately, it didn’t currently have the pound coins and small change to fulfil my needs, but it said that if I can go round my Mum’s and borrow twenty quid off her, take it back during regular office hours and hand it over to one of the eleven year old clerks, it will be more than happy to meet my banking requirements at that time.

 With a shrug and an apologetic grimace, it also told me that it would have to charge me £1.90 for letting me have any cash anyway, and so, since it’s already patiently explained once, it’s spent all of mine, could I please get out of the queue and stop wasting everybody’s time.

Catching my card as it was ferociously spat back out at me  nearly involved my taking out an old lady with a walking stick, but the furious beeping that the machine was emitting had already gotten everyone down on the floor with their ears and eyes covered anyway.

I apologised to the machine for troubling it and beat a hasty retreat back to my fume-powered vehicle.  

An ‘if-you-can-catch-it-you-can-eat-it policy’ has been introduced round here, but I really can’t stop and chat as I need to get on with tracking down a garter belt, some fish-net stockings and a lamp-post so that the dog will be able to come out of hiding.