Ooooooh let’s get this party started…
What a weekend, hotter than July. Oh, wait it is!
My mother is shortly to be 90 years old, yes come on, get your calculators out!
Her eyesight is failing, yet she still has the reactions of a Ninja, and possesses the right foot of Jean-Claude van Damme. She has promised to give it back to him!
Forty percent of the penalties in yesterday’s World Cup games did not find the back of the net… But let’s not let that stand in the way of any ‘desired’ result or hitting a barn door. Like Roy of the Rovers, Putin’s XI could go all the way. How a few million quid can transform the fortunes of this magnificent team?
Life is full of heroes…
Apparently, the half time entertainment for the final will be almost Gladiatorial. It will involve a bare-chested man wrestling a tiger in the centre circle. I draw no reference to people or events, past or present, fact or fiction; but I don’t fancy the tiger’s chances!
Govie, Govie, Govie, man enough to tear the skin off a rice pudding, powerful enough to crush a grape, he will be henceforth known as ‘The Shredder’, pass him a telephone directory. For the millennials amongst you that whooshing noise is the sound of this going over your head, not the sending of an email!
Stand aside BoJo, there’s no getting between this man and his Campari and Soda, he’ll leave you looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Govie and the Brexit Bulldog are tip-toeing through the tulips, walking our one, and only sniffer dog in search of contraband, now if only we could keep Bonio on the other side of the Irish border.
Meanwhile across Donald Duck’s pond, Tariff la Quiff is giving the Americans; ‘Space Force’. Major Don, take a protein pill and put your helmet on.
Next, he’ll be wheeling out Clint Eastwood, Tommy Lee-Jones, Donald Sutherland, and a hologram of James Garner astride gleaming Harley ‘Fatboys’ singing Fortunate Son… announcing these rootin’, tootin’ cowboys are the future of his nation.
Apparently “Team America” are a little put out by this. There will be consequences! Not least when it comes down the budget for Pringles and Oreos.
Anyways, back to Ibiza and Hedonism.
Once again, I stared into the abyss, and she stared back, blinking at my luminescence. I could see she too yearned to come back as me. Good God, what was in that cocktail, tell me I didn’t swallow the umbrella…
Neil my ‘friendly’ tattooist; one the kindest, and gentlest friends I have, has a new dog following the loss of his beloved Scratch at the end of last year.
He hasn’t decided what to call her yet, but she is showing signs of great promise. Perhaps, ‘Thug’, might be a good start and although her training is going well, she has to refine her shoplifting skills. Neil now has a bewildering array of bikinis stolen from the shop two doors away, none of which he is going to wear!
Ibiza is creaking at the seams somewhat, but I still recommend people stay here:
and rent your boats from here:
This creaking included a taxi driver who delivered us to the wrong beach for dinner. It would have resulted in a 10km drive round so we all walked to Es Boldado! Nestling on the cliff edge in the distance. Thank goodness I could take my heels off!
Worth the view?
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