As per the norm, H.M had 'Gay' Gordon come and bore her rigid with his hand wringing and doomladen tales of woe about the country yesterday.
I wouldn't mind if the fact my scotch glass kept unexpectedly emptying itself in his presence was down to a well hidden truth that the Hibernian Horror was a secret lush, but no! Nothing so interesting.
I keep losing drams 'o' Oban and Talisker because the dreary Highlander is as blind as a bat in one eye and as a consequence, unless guided keeps bloody walking in circles right into my occasional table.
Makes the blood boil that such a specimen could be handed the keys to the highest office. I long for the days of 'Thatcher the Hatcher'. Now there was a woman who taught even me a thing or two about sweaty whiskey muddled coitus!!
Damn fine filly!
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