Be aware, they’re telling me. National Insect Week is coming up next month. Creepy Crawlie Week. I have to pay attention to their instructions, they’ve come out of the woodwork to tell me. I now know how to “create a natural habitat for bugs, bees and butterflies in my own garden”.
If only I owned a garden. Or a window box, even. Don’t I have to be on be on benefit for that? I recollect some wag on telly saying he’d seen more wildlife in a tramp’s vest. Scratching my head, it could have been Rab C Nesbitt
That was a long time ago. Before washing machines were invented and today, don’t you qualify for one for free if you’re on benefits?
I do hope this tiger mossy doesn’t mess up the beach bums down there by the glittering Forth. Doubt of the dreaded aedes albopictus will linger. Not if it gets a whiff of the aroma permeating the Seafield air. But send me a card anyway.
Cheesy grins from Beckham and Cowell blighting our screens. Cheesy any which way you look at them. Little between them facially, is there?
One of those days when you feel like a right good girn. The over-hyped, desperately overblown Olympics fair game for a start in cahoots with the Royal Mail.
Parcelforce will pile on a hefty tax on their London deliveries during the Games and Lord Snooty’s to blame for that (Cap’n Coe to his mates).
So much tosh about that damn torch. The Beeb are falling for it big style with Sophie Raworth, who has caught the cheesy grin bug, shamelessly mired in it. Where was Moira Stuart when they needed her?