Cough! Splutter!
Cor, an exploding front door.
Think I need some 6in nail acupuncture and a laundry bag over me head, whist writing to Ian McCulloch.
Better check there isn't a fish in my bed.
Yikes - my parents are coming round to tea, and there's an escaped psycopath in the living room and three harridans in the back room concocting a casserole in a cauldron!
Oh well, at least I'm off work now - still UK Gold on for The Goode Life...
