No, I did not get dragged to the gym for some interminably long abdominal session.  No, we were not made to suffer through a longwinded conversation with her northern friends: I'm sorry lasses, I've seen the photo's I know that you are all terminally cute, but five minutes of that Manc accent is tooo much for these delicate ears.  Oooh, she just bought me a glass of red and its very fucking nice, so I better smarten up.

I trust that you are all aware of the TIVO/technology issue of yesterday.  Personally, I understand her point - Ray has like 20,000 remotes and a very complicated button punching sequence - its a bit complicated.  Well after fixing the system (well done Mrs. Stephens), she decided to celebrate by renting the DVD of "Battlefield Earth".

It's crap.  It really is.  I mean its like Mr. Shit went to shitland and had a very shitty time in the shithouse.  Imagine that toilet in Trainspotting and imagine being Ewan McGregor (ooh yes please), getting sucked down the drain through some fat Glaswegian's vindaloo residue.  Not very nice.  And the annoying thing is that for the first twenty minutes it kinda looks like it might have potential; and then for the next twenty minutes it looks like it might just suck and then you realise that its just pure doggerel.  Really.  Forest Whitaker should be ashamed - Travolta - well he's a Scientologist so he was always off to a bad start.

Anyway, Sam is now cleaning the dishes (she's very domestic at the moment - I think she's at that midpoint in her menstrual cycle because normally she's at bit grumpier than this).  Well I feel the axe coming, the Queen of Hearts is back and the King of Style (who is now panicking about sports jackets - talk about the mid career crisis point), has arrived.