Bed protest

I would like to start a bed protest to highlight the government-sponsored torture of its subjects by its insistence on making the majority of us go to work so they can bleed us dry by taxing our earnings, savings, purchases, inheritance, homes, utilities - anything. Otto is protesting about lack of support for partially-sighted 5 year old cats (called Otto). He wants a "Guide cat" to a) be his right eye, and b) play with, since all the other cats just beat him up all the time.

Who am I kidding? I'm not one for political protest or mass demonstration, I'm just knackered and I want a couple of weeks off to sit around and do sod all. Instead, it seems the run up to the Christmas break is going to be hectic: Christmas wrapping today; Christmas decorations to put up; London with work tomorrow; taking on evening work as a favour to an old colleague; Christmas shopping yet to do; Christmas cake to ice! Plus other shite at work where people decide to have a deadline of "We must get this out before Christmas!" - I don't understand why, most people are just watching the calendar, waiting for breaking up day; they don't generally give a crap about work at the moment.

Anyhow, my bed protest will probably end when I need my third cup of coffee.

I'm actually in my own bed this morning, having been dumped by Trump so she can spend the day gallivanting around Manchester with her mother. It's the first time I've slept in my own bed on a Saturday night since March. It feels a bit weird, not having to get up and rush around to go to work, the relative quietness outside.

I say "quietness", this is of course disturbed by the constant jingle-jangle from a ridiculous number of wind chimes that my idiot neighbours have strung up about their gardens. It'd be so much nicer to hear the sound of their strung up bodies as they knock against a tree trunk. Cunts.

Please, somebody please explain wind chimes to me?? Surely they just cause a disturbance to everybody, including the fucking idiots who put them up. I've been to cemeteries where families of the deceased have attached these things to grave stones; this is so inconsiderate and extreme bad taste. They're just tacky and nasty and very common. But I guess that sums up lots of people.


Harebrained
I love the BBC News website's Have Your Say. They suggest a topic for discussion from one of the latest news items, and they let people discuss it in an online forum. There are general rules about submissions and some discussions are moderated so that comments can't appear until they've been passed by a moderator. You can guarantee that some outraged contributors will complain about the "Government's latest hairbrained scheme", and this always gets my goat - I always thought it was "harebrained", as in like a nutcase hare. I've just had a look at one online dictionary and it says that the "hairbrained" spelling is a Scottish variant that means "a brain the size of a hair" - well, that makes complete sense! Why not just have "pissed out of head-brained", that'd probably be more fitting to the Scots.


Bunny abuse
Apparently, rabbits are the most abused pets in the UK, with many tending to be neglected or even just let go once the novelty of having them has worn off. This is a real shame, but having seen a few pet rabbits, I can understand how easy it is to forget about them. I don't understand the concept of pets that you keep in a hutch. If you're going to have a pet, get one that roams about the house and does things other than looking at you sideways while twitching all the time.


Come forward, mystery Manc reader
I tend to have a look a my site stats quite regularly and, for the past few weeks, I've noticed that I've been visited a LOT by a reader who I think is in Manchester. I wish they'd leave me a comment or drop me an e-mail, I'm intrigued to know who they are.