Oh dear. The lemon harvest this year was a little poor. Our tree yielded one tiny little fruit (make your own jokes) and it dropped off the day after The Missus administered the usual dose of Baby Bio plant food. Anyway, here is the lemon in the palm of my hand. If you want the lemon, drop me a line and I’ll send it to you. Remember, lemons have pips and you could use this fruit to grow a little lemon tree just like mine!

Yesterday I was very happy. The Missus took my favourite watch to the watch repairer to get a replacement battery. Now this watch has been sitting in the draw for about six years waiting for this day. Every so often, I would remember that my watch was without battery and ask The Missus to take it into town. Usually, the staff of the local jewellers couldn’t get the back off the watch and so it remained batteryless. Yesterday, by coincidence, a little old fellow who did all the watch repairs for the aforementioned jeweller’s shop actually came into the shop while the staff were grunting and groaning to get the back off my watch. He had the tools to open the watch and now it has a battery. It is a Citizen Promaster WR-100 watch, which I bought in 1995. It is the best watch in the world and if I adjust the dial, it tells me how much fuel I have left…yes, this is a pilot’s watch. (No – I didn’t steal it from a pilot. I bought it, dummy).

I now feel complete!
In the post: King Crimson – Live in Brighton. Oh dear. The sound quality is really bad on this one. Buying records from the DGM store and the King Crimson Collectors’ Club is a bit like visiting Thailand and sleeping with a ladyboy. You do it because you have to find out what it is like. So every couple of months, I spunk my money up the wall buying these CDs just to see what they are like. I end up feeling cheated and dirty and abused…but I’ll keep going back for more. Yup – just like sleeping with a ladyboy. 🙂
On unrelated news, my mother announced proudly that she only has 42% of her lung function working properly. She informed me of this while taking a long drag on a cigarette. Yup, I’ve had the arguments about smoking, but she won’t listen. However, she still moans at me whenever she sees me a little tipsy. “Ooooh, you shouldn’t drink so much.” The great thing about drinking is that your body tells you when you’ve had enough. You generally fall over. With smoking, there’s no warning until the pathologist is slopping your diseased lungs into a kidney dish. Remember kids, smoking is neither big nor clever. However, drinking in moderation is fun. Whoops! That’s the completely wrong message to give out, isn’t it?
Oh bollocks. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fuck, don’t eat red meat, don’t lust after teenage girls, don’t scratch your nuts in the morning, don’t have that biscuit with your tea. Don’t do anything you enjoy because it will all kill you in the end and some know-it-all will come along at your funeral and say “Well he could have lived much longer if he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much!”. Just get in the coffin now you celibate, tea-totalling vegetarian. How’s dat for a public information message?

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