It's 5 o'clock. The bank holiday starts here.

I can't help feeling I should have made some sort of plans for it.

I'm resting my teeth.

And listening to t'cricket on t'radio.

Internet radio.

I'm still bitter about Test Match Special on long wave

And twisted.

I’ll be away. Bank holidays to me don’t begin until the morning of the day itself. Weekends don’t count.

My plans are to attend a family birthday meal at a pub. Then to sort out my accounts.

I feel that there's some menace lurking behind that statement.

I feel like settling with my brother, the miserable sod. He just sat there refusing to take any of the conversational bait he was offered.

It's the bank holiday!

I've got to do lots of boring personal admin things, it won't be much of a day off for me

I've done them now.

I need to go out and buy wine now.

I got drunk on vodka. Now I have a headache.

It’s over.


No more holidays till Xmas. I think

My hangover went away as I drove.