Me and Trump went out for tea tonight, to Croma, the pizza place near Manchester town hall. It’s nice there. We had starters, main courses, olives, puddings, Trump had wine (a bottle, to herself), I had fizzy water. We were only charged for the puddings and drinks.
Good eh?
I’m SO tired, and SO looking forward to my lie in tomorrow. It’s Trump’s turn to let His Lordship out for his wee in the morning… and then the battle on wills commences: who will break first and give in to go and make the coffees? Well, it’s always bloody me.
I think I’ll get a teasmaid for Bellend Towers. Can you get a teasmaid to make coffee? Probably more of a possibility than getting Trump to make coffee on a Saturday morning.
Talking of Bellend Towers – 27th June. So April? See you on 1st July?
The Snoring Dog 
What you need is a butler.
Piggy would do. He is naturally deferential and the soul of rectitude.
…or should that be rectumtude.
I can imagine him parading around the house, naked except his little pinny and sports socks.
I parade around the house naked apart from my Piggy socks, actually.
Really.
*prods Garfy in the rectum*
*notes he liked it, even though he’ll deny it*
If it’s really coffee you can, my flat mate has one, she sets the alarm and everything.
Think it’s a cheappie morphy richards thing. Does the job though.
What, you wouldn’t bother with the Piggy pinny?
I’m going to look out for coffee maker.
I’ve just been watching a cookery programme where a woman chef is shelling a crab. She’s struggling a little bit with a man looking on. “He’s looking at me thinking, I know she needs my muscle”. Dirty bitch.
I got up for Nibs.
I made coffee.
She got my cereal.
I am an angel.
*pisses self laughing*
Trump? Angel?
*laughs even more*
Go on then, show us yer wings! And no, not your bingo wings.