I know that you're supposed to respect your elders, but it's really difficult at times, I can tell you. Take for example, my Great Uncle Syd - I mean, he's a respected man in the South London Scrabble League, but otherwise he's obtuse, irritating and worst of all, tight as a gnat's chuff. He turned up at 10:33am this morning clutching a large bag of his washing, a half-empty bottle of Woodpecker Cider and a tatty old tea towel with 'Come To Skegness: It's Bracing' emblazoned on it. Lovely. He is currently relaxing against my velour cushions on the sofa and has left the toilet seat up twice. Yuck.
He departs in two hours and five minutes: wish me luck. I wish he wouldn't bring VHS copies of Up The Elephant And Round The Castle to my house - I really detest Jim Davison and his oevre.
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