1. Read.
2. Goof around on social media.
3. Write.
4. Play music and dance, sometimes singing into a hairbrush (my rendition of 'Bad, Bad Leroy Brown' is the stuff of nightmares).
5. Walk my dogs.
6. Housework.
7. Things I won't specify in case my children are reading because I don't want to scar them for life.
8. Cryptic crosswords.
What I don't do:
Look for pointless and inane things to be pointlessly and inanely offended over. Case in point: the whingey purveyors of pussy-arsed sookery who are castigating the Prime Minister over this photograph:
To the people who are griping and saying this is 'disgusting' on the basis he is also holding a beer: what ails you? Seriously, what has climbed into your underwear and is nipping nastily at your genitals in a manner to have you narky over him holding a beer and his grandchild? This is just being outraged for the sake of it, and I hope your first aid kits contain tweezers with which to remove the splinters from beneath your fingernails where you have scraped the bottom of the barrel. What the hell are you all looking at? I saw a nice photograph of a man with his granddaughter. Perhaps I should have put my glasses on.
By all means criticise the man for his ludicrous policies such as the obscene waste of money on the same sex marriage postal vote (just legalise it already, you softcocks!), or the nastily flawed Orwellian tactics of the proposed cashless welfare card (I'm sure your mates at Indue who are to have the contract are jizzing themselves over it, you softcocks!), but this is just, just beyond pathetic.
Hey guess what? When my youngest was a baby, a relative of mine had his 70th birthday. I'm pretty sure there is a photograph of me holding my little one, and a flute of champagne in my free hand. Wow. Someone call DOCS.
Maybe the baby was not enamoured of grandpa's beer fumes on his breath, but she most likely won't even remember it. Christ jumping on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor, you'd think the PM was Whacko Jacko dangling the baby over a balcony!
This utter lunacy just makes me want to press the stop button and disembark from this planet. There are worse things the PM could have been holding in his free hand. Things like:
1. A flaming oxy torch.
2. A glass of sulphuric acid.
3. A Rottweiler.
4. A bucket of battery acid.
5. A copy of Mein Kampf.
6. A bomb.
7. A severed head.
8. A freshly laid steaming turd.
9. A gangrenous limb.
10. His dirty, skid-marked underwear.
11. A bucket of sheep intestines.
The list goes on. Unfortunately, so it would appear, the unnecessary bleating about nothing goes on, too.
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