Spring is here... whoop-de-doo

Hooray, Spring is here! The days are getting longer and Cadbury's creme eggs are back on the shelves in supermarkets across the land. iPhone owners are quivering in anticipation of the shift to British summertime that will cause their useless pieces of over hyped tat to explode, embedding shards of molten plastic into their slack jawed, lumpen faces. The poshest children have probably already broken up from school to enjoy their 20-week summer jaunt in a palace on the moon. The playgrounds are full of delinquents from about 5pm onwards, taking it in turns to shove their stubby, nicotine-stained fingers up the easy bird around the back of the slides.

For Britain is truly a joyous place to be in the spring time, as green chutes of new growth tenderly make their way through the tangled mess of used condoms and other detritus that blights our fair isle. Birds start warbling at 4am and finally decide to shut the fuck up at about 2am the next day. Road surfaces across the country are being smashed to smithereens by oafs, their poo-stained bumcracks on full display as councils desperately try to flitter away their budgets before April. Lardy ladies parade the vomit-coated streets of Croydon in their finest boob-tubes which they have stolen from their 5-year-old daughters at the first hint of sunlight. The trains and tubes get (even more) packed and stuffy as the bovine-brained individuals who can only wake with the sun start taking ever-earlier journeys into work.

The streets start to smell worse than usual as the feeble sun bakes all the piss and other bodily fluids that were thoughtfully deposited on the pavements - and of course not cleaned by the lazy shits who work at the behest of the council - during the long winter. Traversing through central London on foot becomes impossible as smatterings of enormous American tourists clog up walkways all over the place. On the corner of every pub are mobs of bucktoothed hooray Henrys braying at the top of their lungs as they vie for the attention of the homely secretary who looks a bit like mother that they want to have embarrassing sex with.

Bring on winter.


  1. ummm, you don't believe any of what you say. shameful!

  2. Ugh, remind me never to read your blog over breakfast again.