View from the Window

It's a rubbish day which is apt as the whole week has been rubbish so it finishes the way it started. Outside it is drizzling with rain, you know, the worst kind, the distant hills are muggy and no windmills, that always cheers me up of course, there is a fair bit of wind however although it is not as cold as it has been. The odd dog walker goes past and Mark Holmes is across the road fixing up his daughters front garden, Mark is a builder and has just about rebuilt the house in his spare time, my wife is spending her weekends at the moment between here and Glasgow sorting out my sons flat, organising the council, workmen, cleaning etc. the best you'll get from me is an Ikea build if you can stand my complaints and moans because I am not doing it myself.

What was wrong with the week you ask, well we had it confirmed Monday morning that once again a cowboy had been in attendance when the bathroom ceiling lights had been installed, why do you never see the horse outside? He must have got them from a passing spaceship on its way to Alpha Centauri at a knock down price. There is one where the glass plate will not stay on and keeps falling into the bath, there is another where you can't get the glass plate off, and as for changing the bulbs, I have not managed it yet, this involves calling out a real electrician. He also jammed them in the ceiling instead of fixing them there so I now have to get a proper electrician to come out and replace them all.

Later the same day I put some rubbish out only to pass the Batmobile and find three nails in my front tyre, OK the front tyres were due to be replaced but it was still a shock, I gingerly took it to the local garage at the bottom of the hill. A few hours later I get a call with the bad news that a rear tyre also has a nail in it and, guess what, it cannot be repaired, ching £300+ down the drain. An hour after that I get another call to tell me one of the front springs is broken, and here's the thing, the missus knew that as well seemingly and had been telling me for months about the noise, aaagh! The news was worse as he said he did not have the equipment to put in new springs safely and therefore I would have to find somewhere else.

I went online and found I had to take the car to Ulverston, 45 minutes away and it would cost another £300+. I was not a happy bunny, I would have to sit and wait for them to fix the car and I expected that would be my whole day ruined. I got to Ulverston but could not find Unit 5 on the industrial estate, what made it worse was that at every Unit I stopped at they all shook their heads and professed no knowledge of a Mercedes specialist on the estate, getting angrier I eventually stopped at what looked like an Arthur Daly outfit with a large sign saying Mercedes Specialist, I approached the mechanic inside and told him I had the SLK here for two new springs only to be informed he couldn't do them for at least ten days, I blurted out "You must be bleep joking mate" I insert the bleep because I am unsure whether a tame version of an expletive passed my lips I was so mad, after several more exchanges it came to light I was in the wrong place! I did then find the right place, sat around for two hours and got home around three having left that morning at nine. The Anderson treasury has taken a large hit and I still have to get the lights done, and worst of all the missus was right again, the car is quieter.

I see Sam Faiers is being hailed as a role model for expectant mothers and right on feminists, no, I don't know who she is either but she breast fed her baby on This Morning while hiding it under a blanket, which Phil whatever his name is quickly explained was the mothers choice and not a condition of the programme, lawyers and the twittersphere please note. Now being on the television did she not think to feed the baby in the green room in private rather than use it to make a point on national television, way to go Sam more publicity, win win.

I got in the PO the other day and noticed something strange in our tray of dud money, I say dud but we fish out all the Scottish, Isle of Man and Northern Ireland, torn and written on notes to send back to HQ so as not to offend a lot of people who think there is only 'English Money'. The crazy thing being all those other notes are not actually legal tender, but I digress. Anyway right on the top of the pile was a new fiver, how can that be thought I, they have only just come into circulation and are almost as invulnerable, compared to paper money, as Superman. Well not when you account for human stupidity they are not, whoever owned this particular fiver had strenuously torn off one corner and burned the other, testing the claims the moron had listened to on the telly, you couldn't make it up.

I have been forced to watch Strictly Come Dancing the last few weeks because on a Saturday night I have no boxed sets or movies worth watching at the moment although I am considering paint drying. However I am reaching the end of my tether with the show again, why does the black guy burst into tears when he is praised by the judges, even the women don't do that, man up for heavens sake. And what about the Will Young furore, he has left for many differing reasons depending on which paper you read and how popular it is with the great unwashed. He has suffered from PTSD in the past, remember here he is a ..... singer, not a soldier, fireman or policeman or any one of a number of people who deal with traumatic incidents every day. Slebs also deal with depersonalisation and derealisation as well the luvs.

I am being hustled to get on here, I got up late and we leave in twenty minutes and I have not even brushed my teeth yet, there will be no view next week as I have guests turning up for a wargaming weekend, my son and a mate who is taking his life in his hands venturing past the Watford Gap "will I need a passport?"

A parting shot is the news that some 900 Nigerian women have turned up here at our expense to have babies then went home, at least they went home, one in particular cost us £145,000 for five babies, save the NHS anyone?