Right, explain this. If you blow up a dogs nose (and I don't mean explode it with dynamite you stupid nerglers!) It does not like it.

BUT! stick the mut in a car and go for a drive and it will stick it's head out the window and get loads of wind blown up its nose AND LOVE IT!

What is going on there then eh?

AND if there sense of smell is soooooo good, why do they have to put thier nose about three millimetres from a fresh pile of dogy poo to have a smell when you can smell it from across the road?

eh? EH?

Or not.

Sitting in the sun playing "Red House" on my Les paul, through a rather naff little amplifier, to try and relax Mrs F. Although the painkillers could be helping that more than my playing.

Drinking and eating and chatting and trying NOT to make Mrs F laugh. And I am biting my tounge and not telling her that she is shuffling around like Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques.

She has already promised me a damn good kicking when she is better.

He he.

I think she has forgiven me for last night.

Now must be off, as Shipscook Mr S has served up coffee and Brandy on the poop deck, after his latest creation which was spannish style chicken
with canarian style potatoes.

And some salad. Which I dropped.

Ahem.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

NO! NO THEY ARE NOT BLOG UK, YOUR EFFING SERVER IS SLEEPING! or some other tech thingy bollocks.

It's amazing that the blog sleeps when we are still awake.

Of course, I say we but us uk bods are apparently a bit thin on the ground.

This post was insired by the drink bourbon, friends in pain and everyone else in the house passed out.

"Seasameeeeee blog is a product of the sick, drunk and fucked up workshop"

Well pickely poos, I seem to have broken one of my friends, very carless, and was going to sit here with here dancing around drunk on the vast sea of blog dispensing rubbish to the ether, or being dyslexic - the teher, or something.

But the poor wounded soul has gone bedies and I am going to have to say goodnight to Mrs F and pull up an ice flow next to Mr Walrus, sip some booze and get a bit more "relaxed" and chat about art, frilly shirts, drugs and cliff tops.

As ya do.

Then maybe play some guitar.

G'night.

Hic.

Erm, probably.

look, I did not mean to do it OK.

And the person involved has forgiven me.

And I can't help being funny and entertaining.

But, Mrs F DID say to me "please don't make me laugh"

She has hurt her ribs badly and is in pain, but smiling when she can. Now I have cracked/broken my ribs and I know it hurts. I know the muscle spasms that come with it that make you grind your teeth and cry with pain. And I remember Mrs F making me laugh and how funny I thought it was even though I KNEW it was gonna kill me during my "rib experience"

I was trying to be sympathetic. But I made her laugh too much and she is in agony and I feel guilty. She has "taken to her bed"

I really hope she gets well soon.

Now - Drinkies for me and Mr S (when he comes down from soothing Mrs F into her bed)

We make great/crap nurses. Depending on your point of veiw of course.

Glayvin!