
So, to recap:
1. Mrs Pither has buggered off and shacked up with someone else.
2. I am in the financial doo-doos up to my armpits and it looks as though the house could soon be repossessed.
3. The Cow and Carrot has announced 120 redundancies and there are whispers that I am going to be on the list in the New Year.
4. I am 48, unhealthy and going fucking nowhere.
5. The tenative relationship I had with a lovely sex of the opposite gender has just gone bosoms up - albeit with the best spelled and punctuated Dear John text I have ever had.
6. Christmas will now be a distinctly canine affair with just me, five dogs, a bacon sandwich and Steve McQueen (assuming THAT film is on again).
If anyone knows of a wealthy, unfeasibly large-breasted, morally casual woman, who is blind, has no-sense of smell, has a fetish for overweight, balding men, lives over an off-licence and has a Nottingham Forest season ticket then could they please put her in touch with me.
Happy Christmas.

