Everywhere else it's St. Patrick's Day but not in Goblin land. According to Goblin lore today is Slitheringtide. Every year since the fifth century, on this day, daring goblins try to smuggle snakes back into Ireland by secreting them on their person in the most absurd places imaginable.
I wonder what they would have done with a flying tram. I didn't watch the crappingwealth games opening ceremony (lower case intentional) because I had something better to do like shoving bamboo slivers under my fingernails.
I am in a bad mood. The blog ate my previous post so I have to do it again which is bad because I've been barred from computer use again. You can see how obedient I am. Everything hurts anyway so I might as well be here because I'm doomed, doomed triple doomed. My mother has bought herself a wheelchair so that I can take her out and she won't hurt trying to walk. She can come to my place and we can have coffee at that nice shop I'm always raving about. She can have a shopping spree at Westfield. She can take a 'walk' in the park. She will be sitting, I will be pushing. According to her logic, dodgy at any time, It will be good for my back because I'll have something to hold on to so I won't fall down. Mummy Dearest, do the words 'dead weight' mean anything to you? Her heart's in the right place though, she bought a good one for me to use after she's gone. In other words, look after my inheritance if not my mother.
Further to the bad mood department. How long do we have to put up with Howard's lies about everything. Please, God, Intelligent Designer, Alien invaders, anybody up there, zap the rodent. I was going to say 'where's the Devil when you need him' but he's already in Canberra and loving it.