Oh Goth how I used to hate this day. A family gathering, tempered only by the lure of chocolates for us wee children. The men would booger off to watch the football (joys of having a grandmother in West Gorton, Madchester (UK)) and thus rather close to Maine Road and Old Trafford. The men chuffed off to watch football, the women were left to gossip, the kids with, "selection boxes" - a composite of chocolate sweets which we weren't allowed to eat until after lunch, complimented with a glass of Vimto. We weren't allowed beer before you were 6 in the UK.
Alternatively, staying in Wales, we could watch rabid dogs and idiots on horses chasing badgers, foxes or other furry creatures. So much for the Hunt. Hunt - Rhymes with? (Think Sesame Street! begins with a C). Bunch of toffee-nosed geeks with no friends and even less personalities. Like they could even justify it ........ the bankers!!! Wouldn't mind if they caught the wretched creatures for a reason - tally fook off!
Today, I intend to get steadily but slowly pissed as a fart (sorry ladies, have tried really hard not to swear). I have earned this privelege - ok, maybe I haven't but the Wodka I've been drinking says I have!!!!!!
Bloody Mary!!!!!! ha ha - not swearing, just......rather tasty.
I suppose I could ask for a re-run of the Queen's speech. Naw, bollocks, the queen obsessing about her anus horriblus in a YMCA way. She should have joined the Village People before unleashing her freaks on us.
EEK - re-reading this, I sound rather angry.
Consequence of not being allowed to speak to the fruit of my loin yesterday - and yes, I am damn fucking angry. But....
My Name Is Goth (I'm just trying to be a better person)
ps before you think I have completely lost the plot, mi Mariposa is soundly asleep after having been fed, wined and cuddled. I'm content and loved. Hooray.
besos a todos XXXXX