Dear bastard diary- every bugger knows how much I love British peasants - but sod me, diary, - tell me why is my grandson going to marry one?
Of all the bastard tarts in bleeding Britain, why did silly Willy pick a filly sired by an airport Johnny out of a trolley dolly?
Bloody hell, I've got prize pigs with better pedigrees.
But bugger me; what does a sad old Greek-geek know about anything these bastard days - bloody women running sodding countries and willy-bloody woofs flaunting themselves everywhere?
And then there's the bloody royal wedding to pay for - let's face it, the bride's peasant parents won't be able to foot the bill on benefits!
Oh yeah, and there'll be all the wife's bloody- bastard, foreign, royal in-laws crawling round the palace.
Bastard hell, - I'm so depressed th...