It's very murky this morning here on Ramsgate's fashionable East Cliff. I can barely see my Rolex in front of my face.
I didn't get much sleep, due to a regular groaning noise coming from somewhere out to sea. Elton says it's a fog horn, but what does he know? He's about as nautical as Gordon Brown's glass eye.
Oh dear, I think the lack of sleep is beginning to tell.
1 comment:
that effing bloody tracey effing woman bloody big hooter
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