The countdown to Christmas starts. C seems to be coming home from school having done something seasonally themed ever day. It's the school carol service at the village church next week. C has once again made the dizzy heights of shepherd, a career treading the boards doesn't seem an option.

I have a problem with civil servants, particularly those from customs & excise and the inland revenue. Sad little tossers with cheap shoes and cheap suits. Topping the list of those most likely to wear novelty ties and socks at this time of the year. You go to work every day on your lovley little flexitime hours, always pissing off at three in the afternoon on a Friday. Stay in your crappy job for long enough and get your tidy civil service pension. Some of us choose to be a tad more adventurous with our working lives, so give us a fucking break when the cheque's a few days late. The government of the day is only going to waste it on another shite computer system to try and run your department or on a drop in centre for mongolian lesbians. Mutated, smug gimps. And why do they always insist on introducing themselves as Mister this or Mrs That, what, do we have to fucking bow in your prescence ?

AAAhhhh, that's better.